


Of Pregnancy, Pups, and Pack.

by GigaCat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom!Stiles, Derek is a possessive mate, F/M, M/M, Mpreg, NO ASSBABIES, S3 and S4 NEVER FUCKING HAPPENED, Scott and Derek have 'my baby is cuter than your baby' contests, Sequel, Stiles regrets nothing, Top!Derek, also possibly some minor Boyd/Erica, because y'all asked for it, maybe some side chris/peter, minor Scott/Allison, not your traditional mpreg, still not good at tagging shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GigaCat/pseuds/GigaCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, the look on Deaton's face isn't <i>exactly</i> what Stiles had hoped for. </p><p>This is the official sequel to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/805453">How to Melt an Alpha</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And so it Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I decided to just break this beast into chapters. I'm not even halfway done with it yet and things keep taking my attention away... So instead of taking a century to finish it, I'm going to break it down into chapters when it seems appropriate. 
> 
> This is my take on mpreg. I honestly, entirely _hated_ mpreg when I first started into fandom many years ago, but thanks to my BB, we've both found a way method of approaching the trope that actually was enjoyable (and we end up RPing it more often than not XD). So yeah. I don't think it's as 'traditional' as most mpregs. I'm not sure. 
> 
> We attempt to scrape some logic together for the 'how' of it all, but honestly, it's fiction -- let's not take it too seriously. 
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy the fic! ♥

Well, the look on Deaton's face isn't _exactly_ what Stiles had hoped for.

"I'm not sure I heard right…  Could you repeat the question?" Deaton asks, polite as ever.  There's the very strong hint of amusement in his tone.

Stiles rolls his eyes; he can't _possibly_ be any more blunt here.  "I'm asking if there's some spell or charm or _whatever_ out there that can make it possible for a guy to get pregnant. _Well_?"

Deaton's brows lift briefly and he goes on counting syringes for stock purposes. "Ah.  That's what I thought you said…"  There's a small pause as he picks up a pen and marks down a number on his clipboard.  "Well.  There _is_ a certain charm out there for this matter.  It only works on those inclined to the craft."

Stiles perks. "Oh yeah?  Must be my lucky day."

Deaton purses his lips some, holding back mirth.  "If that's how you'd like to view it, then I suppose it is…"

Stiles grins and is just entirely elated.  Derek hasn't got a clue he's here; he's busy running some pack drills with the others.  Stiles wants this to be a _surprise_.  He's just graduated from college and he's planning to work on a revised bestiary – he can market it to general public as fantasy and no one will be any wiser – which means he can totally work from home.  He's all set on that front.  Of course, there's still the issue of finding a new place and telling his dad about a possible new family member, all that jazz. 

Stiles just needs to be sure this is even possible before he goes jumping the gun.

"So what are the downsides?" he asks, because there's a downside to _everything_ magic related.

Deaton hums, the humor from before turning back to his usual brand of neutral.  "Well, for starters, the charm is going to just raise the chances of conception.  It's not a sure thing and it's going to temporarily change things _inside_ to make it possible.  Some pain may happen, but I suspect it could be equated to just some cramping…"

Stiles leans against the metal exam table, tapping his chin with his fingers, mind already racing with the variables.  "Not even gonna ask _what_ changes, but you're sayin' there's a chance it could happen either really quickly or it could take forever, right?"

Deaton nods.  He starts to pack the syringes away and put them back on their proper shelf.  He pulls a box of catheters down to count next.  "Correct."

"Well.  It'll be fun trying," Stiles surmises puckishly.  "And what about when it takes?  There's definitely gotta be risks there.  And am I gonna have to, like… y'know…"  He motions with a flail, trying to convey what he doesn't want to say.  When Deaton just pauses to stare at him, Stiles grunts out a sigh.  "Am I gonna have to birth the baby out my—"

"No," Deaton interrupts mercifully.  He's back to looking amused again.  Incredibly amused.  "The charm only helps with conception.  The baby will have nowhere to go when labor occurs, so a C-section will be the only option of delivery."

Stiles squints.  "So… I'm not growing a vagina?"

Deaton huffs a laugh, shaking his head.  "No, Stiles.  I can't explain how the magic works; I just know that it makes the conception possible...  Before we develop into our gender, we all start from the same template.  Most males have a uterus, partial or full.  Once we grow into our gender, that uterus remains atrophied and useless.  It's usually found near the prostate, I've been told.  I believe it's sometimes referred to as the Mullerian duct…"

Stiles didn't get to learn this shit in sex ed.  "Okay… Way more than I _needed_ to know, but _interesting_ nonetheless."  Apparently Deaton more than just animal physiology, which shouldn't surprise Stiles as much as it _does_.

Deaton openly smirks, counting each catheter as he places them one by one on the table.  "I'm not sure where the rest of the necessary 'equipment' to sustain life comes into play, but I'm not going to think too hard on it.  Magic is magic.  Your risks will be greater than what a woman would face."

Stiles sobers some at that and frowns.  "Have you, uh… Have you dealt with this before?"

Deaton shakes his head.  "No.  I know about it through others who have.  The lack of wider hips means you could end up carrying the baby higher, which will put pressure on other organs.  Decreased lung capacity, more nausea, constipation," he explains.  "Not to mention the difference in hormones your body has, plus werewolf genetics, and how they'll affect fetal development.  I've been told gestation is shorter because the baby will grow faster."

Stiles thinks he needs to sit down, so he goes and plops down on one of the chairs against the wall.  He's not sure if this stuff is worrying or comforting or some nauseating mix of both.  "How much faster?"

"Five to six months is the general range, I'm told," Deaton answers smoothly.  Stiles has to give the guy credit for being so damn chill with all this.  "There's another matter to consider, which would be who will be performing the operation come your due date."

Stiles' leg starts to bounce with nervous energy; this is a lot to take in.  "Yeah, that… I didn't think of that yet."

Deaton smiles, writing down a number before packing the catheters up.  "I suppose I could call in a favor with some people I know."

"Seriously?"  Stiles turns doubtful, eying the vet.  "What's the catch?"

"No catch."  Deaton places the box on the shelf and grabs down another one of various bandaging material.  "I was close friends with Derek's parents.  The Hales were a good pack and I'd like to see it expand again."

That's… Okay.  Stiles didn't know Deaton had history with the Hales.  But then there's a lot still about Deaton that no one really knows.  "Alright… So, how's this charm work? Like, how do you cast it?"

"It's cast on drink or food, tea is popular, and it works very much the same way as mountain ash," Deaton answers with an enigmatic smile. "There are words to go along with the enchantment, but you must _believe_."

Stiles grins and blows out a long, jittery breath. "Great. Fantastic.  Hook me up, Doc."

 

////

 

Stiles kind of hates Deaton right now.  'Just cramping' his _ass_. 

He's glad he chose to surprise Derek with this whole baby-making thing; Stiles is now curled up on the couch after drinking the metaphorical kool-aid, emitting the sound of a dying whale while his _insidey parts_ feel like they're going to _explode_. 

He's only felt like this one time.  It was after he ate at that Mexican food place with Scott. 

Stiles even has a goddamn _flop sweat_ going.

He tries to suck it up and just tough it out because he is a _man_ , he can fucking _do this_. 

 

/////

 

An hour later and Stiles is pretty sure that the 'man' part of things no longer fully applies to him.  The gut-wrenching cramping _from Satan_ finally eases up and, soon enough, Stiles can peel himself off the couch and go shower.  He feels gross after all that sweating.

Once he feels and smells clean, Stiles sits down on the couch with his phone.  He's going to have some _fun_ now.

He texts Derek, who went out earlier with Boyd and Isaac.  He's not entirely sure what they're doing.  He didn't really think to check; Stiles had other things on his mind at the time.

**Text from Little Red:**

_What up?_

It doesn't take long for Derek to respond.

**Text from Big Bad:**

_Just finished running with Boyd and Isaac.  Need anything on the way home?_

Stiles grinned; he was a clever fox with Derek's phone moniker.  The one that Derek secretly likes but will never fess up to. 

**Text from Little Red:**

_Nope.  How far out are you?_

**Text from Big Bad:**

_About 30 mins still._

**Text from Little Red:**

_Kay.  Guess what I did?_

**Text from Big Bad:**

_Nothing had better have exploded._

Not fair.  That was _one time_ and Stiles didn't have his Latin down yet.  That spell was pretty advanced and he was a novice still.

**Text from Little Red:**

_Rude.  So rude it wounds.  I visited Deaton._

**Text from Big Bad:**

_Still not encouraging._

**Text from Little Red:**

_I talked to him about dudes having dude-pregnancies._

**Text from Big Bad:**

_?_

**Text from Little Red:**

_Totally possible.  Gave me the charm and tea to drink._

Derek's response takes longer to arrive.  Stiles is pretty sure that's a positive thing, because that means Derek is really thinking about an appropriate/coherent response.

**Text from Big Bad:**

_Should talk about this when I get home._

Stiles grins.

**Text from Little Red:**

_Yeah we should. FYI I used it.  Totally ready to make a baby right now._

**Text from Big Bad:**

_Be home in 10._

 

/////

 

Stiles has never seen Derek so torn between wanting to maul him and trying _not_ to.  It'spretty amusing, except for the part where he kind of really wants it to happen.

Far be it from Derek to not actually need to talk this stuff over.  He probably broke some laws getting home in such a timely manner.

"It's possible?" Derek asks.  He looks _exactly_ like he just got back from a run, his hair mussed and old sweat shining on his skin.  The hopeful look on his face is _precious_ and Stiles kind of wants to squish his cheeks, but the distance Derek is keeping between them prevents him from doing so.

" _Yes_ ," Stiles answers, exasperated.  "I don't know what could be clearer than 'ready to make a baby' in that text."

Derek blinks a few times, fingers flexing as he paces a little near the couch.  Stiles is sitting in the cozy armchair adjacent to it.  While it's usually adorable watching Derek process things like a slow goddamn computer, it's actually kind of annoying right now.  Stiles had been expecting a hot dicking the second Derek passed the door's threshold.  "You went over everything with Deaton?  _Everything_ , like potential—"

"—Things that can hurt me or the baby, _yes_ Derek."  Stiles would rather fuck now and talk later.  "Look, we can talk about everything in a little while, okay?"  He stands up and goes around the chair after Derek, but Derek has the audacity to scowl at him and play keep-away by stepping around the couch.  Stiles just _cannot_ with this right now.  "Derek—"

" _Stiles_ ," Derek cuts in with more insistence.  "A baby is a big issue; we should have talked this over _before_ you took the charm.  We haven't even started looking at houses or talked about—"

 

" _Jesus Christ_ , Derek!" Stiles throws his hands up. "We have _time_!  The baby isn't going to burst out of me like this is _Aliens_ the second you fork over th' baby batter!"  Derek makes a face, whether over Stiles' choice of words or the mental image just conjured.  "Besides, the charm isn't a sure thing; we might have to do this a few times and _then_ we'll have five months, give or take, to figure the rest out."

Derek's expression is pinched.  "Stiles—"

" _Derek Hale,_ you get over here and you try to put a fucking baby in me _right now_ ," Stiles growls, having had his fill of stubborn werewolf when there should be dirty, _filthy_ sex going on.

The _snarl_ and flash of red eyes totally means Stiles is going to get his way.

 

////

 

Okay, so maybe he was under-estimating some things here.  Like how much that 'put a baby in me' thing would affect Derek.  Stiles has never been knotted this much before, nor has he ever had _marathon sex_. 

His dick had given up after orgasm number six, which produced a spit of come and no more.  It's the real-life equivalent to that cartoon gun that's pulled and the little flag comes out with 'BANG!' written on it.

That's not to say his dick has thrown in the towel entirely; there's some very valiant twitching still.  Stiles is proud of his little trooper.  Not that he's _little_ , he's just saying- oh, _never mind._

How _Derek_ is still managing to produce anything, Stiles is chalking up to werewolf physiological differences.  Either that or Derek's secret identity is the Energizer sex bunny.  Stiles feels _gross_ as _hell_ , what with all the come coating the inside of his thighs.  It's been steadily dripping out around Derek's cock, he's that fucking full.

Also, he's _really_ sore.  He'll be even _moreso_ when he's finally allowed to sleep for a week.  He's bitten, scratched, bruised, carpet-burned – Derek managed to drag him to the bed after round two – and while Stiles _loves_ all of it, it's going to be a bitch to deal with later.

His ass might never stop hurting.

"Derek," he rasps breathlessly.  "Derek, I need water…"  Derek's been in beta form since they started.  Stiles just hopes the instinct that's been driving him is sated enough to realize that Stiles _needs_ a break.

Derek pants wetly against the back of Stiles' neck, having maneuvered them onto their sides. He mouths at the bruises he's bitten and sucked into Stiles' skin, but it's gentler this time.  They're tied together still, Derek having just come _again_.  Apparently this time is the charm, that proverbial crossing of the finish line for Derek. 

"Okay," he says, voice thick and utterly _wrecked_ , but finally coherent.  Derek seems to come back to himself gradually as he starts to nose at Stiles more rather than mouth and lick.  "Sorry, I…  I should have stopped a while ago."

Stiles laughs, or he would had he the energy and lung capacity.  "Gonna be shocked if I'm not knocked up after this.  But I really need somethin' to drink." As if on cue, his stomach lets out a terrifying noise.  "And eat."

"Okay," Derek says.  His hand hasn't left its spot on Stiles' lower abdomen and his thumb rubs a soothing circle there.  Or maybe he's rubbing all his wishful thoughts there and hoping it helps the charm. 

When Derek's knot _finally_ subsides and allows him to slip out – _oh god, so much come_ – Stiles sighs with a mixture of relief and pain. 

So sore.  _Really sore_.

Derek presses one last kiss to Stiles' shoulder before he peels out of bed.  Stiles grimaces and sprawls out, watching him disappear into the bathroom for a moment before returning with a wet washcloth. 

Derek's aftercare is the best.  All tender touches and murmured words of affection and, in this case, some apology.  Stiles doesn't care about that, he just wants to be clean and fed now.  Derek obliges, helping him up – because Stiles hates to be carried – and staying close while they shower.  Mutual grooming is kind of a _thing_ with werewolves and he's all for it. 

Besides, he deserves to be pampered after he took the ass-pounding of the century.  And maybe an award. 

Seriously.  Stiles kind of thinks a classy trophy made into the golden image of his ass with 'Took it Like a Champ' engraved on a plaque underneath would be _perfect_.

A bath might have been better than a shower, as his legs are shaky at best and his bones feel like jelly, but what goes in must come out and Stiles is _not_ soaking in jizz and sweat.  So he just leans against the shower wall while Derek's hands, strong and big and sure, do the work for him.  Stiles could _weep_ over the soapy leg massage Derek gives him.

Once they're both cleaned up and Stiles is in pajama bottoms, he finally caves and lets Derek hoist him up, bridal style because he's a classy bitch, and take him to the couch.  Derek gets him a tall glass of water and reheats the stir-fry from last night.  Afterwards, Derek goes off to clean up their messes while Stiles turns on the TV, eats and relaxes.

 

/////

 

Stiles gets kind of anxious and calls Deaton – like fuck if he's asking anyone else, because no one knows what they're up to yet – and asks how long until he knows he took.  Or, well, _conceived_ for better term.

Anywhere from one to two weeks, Deaton tells him.  Stiles _hates_ waiting for things.  _Especially_ when it's waiting for news.

At least he's not alone in being anxious; Derek keeps asking him if he feels any different and it gets to be annoying after a few times.  Stiles feels a little bad when he snaps, though, and Derek gets that not-wounded-but-really-am look on his face. 

They try and distract themselves from the invisible clock ticking over their heads by trying to get their priorities straight.  Stiles makes a list for it and everything.  With bullet points.

At the top of the list is telling his dad about the plans of adding a baby to the family.  He took the news of werewolves _way_ too well to be fair and Stiles still feels like he's owed some heavy lecturing, so he fully expects this to be the one that knocks his dad for a loop.

 

/////

 

_Not fair_. 

"Shouldn't you be, like, I dunno.  More shocked or kind of grossed out by this?"  Stiles not-whines at his father.   They're having lunch

"I'm going to be a grandfather.  What should I be shocked or grossed out about?" his father responds, cool as a cucumber.  Damn him. 

Stiles rolls his eyes.  "So many things, dad.  Like the fact that, _oh hey_ , I'm a guy that's going to have a baby!"

"There was a man in Hawaii that had a baby…" Stiles is regretting bringing pizza for lunch in attempts to lessen the shock.  If he didn't know any better, he'd think his dad is actually kind of smug right now.

"Kind of a different situation," Stiles points out. 

His dad shrugs.  "You know there's a really nice house four blocks down from here that's for sale."

How is Stiles related to this man?  He would be _exploding_ with questions right about now if this situation were reversed.  "I know.  Derek's set up an appointment with a realtor and we're gonna go look at it on Thursday morning," he grouches.

He still thinks he's due a lifetime of _what the hell, Stiles?_

It's kind of worth it, though, for the big smile plastered all over his dad's face.  "I work night-shift on Thursday."

 

//////

 

Next up on the list is telling the others.  Derek figures a pack meeting is best.  Stiles does, too, if only so he can _see_ Jackson wanting _so badly_ to rib at him, but knowing full well he can't if he wants his head to remain on his shoulders.

Derek's gotten way, _way_ more protective since they've started this baby-making business.  It makes Peter smirk and look eternally amused and it really annoys Stiles, but there are some moments where it's not so bad.

Scott is…  Well, he's _Scott_.  His face is twisted into something that's clearly a mix of mortification and curiosity.  "But _how_?"

Allison rolls her eyes fondly.  "I think 'magic' is a good enough answer."

Scott's brows beetle even more.  "No, I don't mean…  _How_ is it gonna _…_?"

Stiles grins, suddenly knowing _exactly_ what he's trying to ask.  "It's gonna come out of my—"

"Stomach," Derek finishes for him, the _spoil sport_.  "Via C-section."

Stiles pouts at him, but Derek purses his lips, which means he's trying not to laugh.  _Bastard_.  Stiles hasn't gotten to horrify Scott in a while, okay?

"That's a little anti-climactic," Peter remarks like the smartass he is.

Isaac may have blanched a little, but now he looks _relieved_.  He's even smiling a little now, but keeping quiet.

Boyd is just smirking from his spot beside Isaac.  Whatever it is that's making him smirk, he's keeping it to himself.

Scott, meanwhile, looks _damn_ relieved.  "Oh.  Okay.  That's _way_ better than what I thought…" 

Allison just shakes her head. 

Lydia finally looks up from her phone.  "So when are we going to expect the new puppy?" she asks expectantly.

Jackson still looks like he's going to pop having to just sit and stew on whatever derogatory thing he'd _really, really_ like to say. 

"Not sure yet," Stiles answers.  "We only just started tryin', but once it happens we've got about five months."

"Our kids're gonna be friends," Scott says as if it's a sudden realization.  And he looks excited about it.  "Oh my god, what if they get _married_?  We'll really be like brothers then!"

 

/////

 

Next on the list is finding a house.  They're pretty well-set financially; Derek is _painfully_ frugal – he's always been disgustingly rich, go figure – but they're not going to go and buy the biggest house just because.

They're set the look at a number of homes within the area over the next few weeks, but the place four blocks down from his dad is the first one.  Derek and Stiles show up a few minutes before they should, but the realtor is already there, parked in her car going over some things on her phone. 

Her name is Sheryl.  She's very pleasant and bubbly, probably more than Derek likes, but Stiles thinks it's great.

That his father's car comes coasting up to the curb is _purely_ coincidental.

_Not_.

"Can I tag along?" his dad asks from the open window, putting on his most brilliant smile. 

Sheryl looks a little confused until Stiles fills her in. "He's my dad…"

"Oh, sure!" she chirps, smiling then. 

Derek shakes his head.  "Couldn't help himself," he mutters.

"Never can," Stiles replies just as quietly.

With his father now in tow, Sheryl promptly starts to tell them all about the home.  It was built the same year his mom and dad's house was, but has been fully restored.  When she takes them inside, they go through and see each room; four bedrooms, two baths, an island kitchen and open dining room that leads into the living room.  There's also a mud room.  The back yard is decent, but Stiles can tell by the minutely pinched expression on Derek that it's not going to be adequate.  Not by werewolf standards.

His dad proves to be useful, pointing out things they'd have to consider with the kids; baby gates, for one, because of it being a two-story.  Babies don't bounce too well on stairs.  The kitchen is nice but, for the amount of people they'd have over for the holidays, it's going to get cramped fast.  He's happy there isn't a pool, though, and that it's close to him.

It's a nice start to their home hunt and one they'll keep in mind.

 

//////

 

The rest of the house hunt turns a little ugly.  It's one of those things old couples warn you about, like not discussing politics or religion with your friends or getting married to the boyfriend you met one month ago.  _Things_ come up and shatter the harmony of it all.

Turns out, Derek is _really_ particular about how this house of theirs should be and he's really digging his heels in when the homes they look at stray from this perfect picture of his.  So far the first house is the only one that comes close to what he wants, although the last one they just looked at – but number twenty two – is close, too.  Whereas Stiles could have been really happy with house number five or nine. 

House hunting has been causing them to argue for the last week or so.  Stiles doesn’t _like_ to argue with Derek.  They rarely fight – _despite_ what the others say – but, when they do, it can get _epic_ ; they're both mulish and don't want to budge on the things they think are right, which just adds to the problem.

"It had a huge back yard," Derek points out for the bazillionth time.  "But I didn't like the kitchen or the bedrooms."

Stiles rubs his forehead, right where a headache is starting to bloom.  He's sitting on the couch at the moment while Derek is looking over the house ads on his laptop.  "You've said before.  In a variety of ways.  Over every house we've looked at."

Derek scowls at the monitor, clicking around.  "It shouldn't be this hard to find the right house."

"Because you aren't willing to budge on _anything_ ," Stiles retorts petulantly.

Derek is scowling at him now.  "Both of the houses you liked had pools."

"Because it would be _fun_ to have pool parties for the kid when it's old enough!" Stiles points out, his patience long since gone.  "Plus they both already had fencing around the pools _and_ the front and back yards _and_ they weren't _right against_ another house."

"The bedrooms were too small and the fifth house only had three bedrooms," Derek replies, standing firm on his distaste for them.  "If the baby is a werewolf, it's going to want lots of space to run around.  Also, I thought we were going to have more than one?"

Stiles groans and scrubs his hands over his face.  "Right now I can't believe we're even trying for _one_ , Derek.  Why don't we just renovate your old house?"

Derek goes from looking briefly wounded to disbelieving.  "In just five months?  Stiles, that place needs to be rebuilt from the ground up.  That would take at _least_ nine months to a year." 

"Well we're not exactly finding anywhere else we can agree on!"  Stiles' headache is fully formed now and he's just really, really irritated at Derek right now.  " _Derek_ , if we can't agree on finding a fucking _house_ , how are we supposed to raise a kid together?!"

Derek's nostrils flare and his scowl is back in full force.  "Finding a house is entirely different from raising a child, _Stiles_."

"Really? Because I'm pretty sure raising kids involves agreeing on shit and we can't be undermining each other or disagreeing like this!" Stiles stands up and goes to find something to do with his hands.  That happens to be organizing the magazines and papers spread out on the kitchen table.  "Every single thing you're looking for in this 'perfect house' of yours is everything your old house was."

Derek scoffs.  "So what do you want me to do, Stiles?  Pull a miracle out my ass and have it magically renovated in five months?"

"I don't know," Stiles snaps.  "I don't fucking know, Derek.  How are we going to make this work if we can't find a house to be happy with?"

Derek looks a little perplexed again around his anger.  "What does that even _mean_?  Stiles, we're making things work just fine."

Stiles slaps down the stack of magazines and looks right at Derek, jaw set even if his heart is all over the damn place.  It's a mix of anger and anxiety and sadness.  " _Are we_?"

Derek scoffs, making a jerked motion with his arms.  "So what, just because we're bickering over houses today, you're saying you're done with this whole thing?  It doesn't _work_ that way!"

"Well maybe I _want_ it to work that way!" Stiles thins his lips and points. "I'm sick of _you_ not wanting to compromise, I'm sick of _fighting_ , and I'm sick of--" He swallows thickly, stomach starting to twist and it's like a terrible, chilled knot in his gut.  "I'm sick of _you_ ," he grits out, brows shooting up as he feels a prickle of cold sweat all over his skin. 

Derek blinks a few times, outrage and hurt yielding to cautious worry.  "Stiles…?"

Stiles thinks he's going to be physically sick, actually.  He swallows around the knot in his throat and the terrible, foreboding tingle in his cheeks. 

He makes a mad dash for the bathroom, right in time to vomit.

By the time he's done all but hurling his stomach from his body, he feels wrung out and a little shaky and suddenly really frightened because _why_ is he sick?

A warm hand presses to his back and Derek's forehead brushes his right shoulder blade.  The circles he rubs on Stiles' back are soothing and, soon enough, Stiles feels himself calming down.  He flushes the toilet twice and grips the counter, standing up so he can rinse his mouth out.  His stomach doesn't feel so bad now, like it was just a passing thing.  His head still really kind of hurts, but that's more from tension.

He leans against the counter, Derek's hand not leaving that spot on his back. 

"I'm sorry," Derek says, the words very quiet. 

Stiles drags his gaze from the sink to meet Derek's in the mirror.  He's looking like he means it, his kicked puppy expression not the same as Scott's but it has similar effects on Stiles. 

But he's still kind of pissed off and acutely tired. 

Derek's gaze drops for a moment to somewhere on Stiles, his brows twitching and he gets that distant look he always does when he's listening for something. 

Then it dawns on Stiles and moisture gathers in his eyes.  He doesn't let it form into tears though; it's been about two weeks now.  He's done  some research here and there, when he was too frustrated from house shopping.  Morning sickness tends to start when the fetus' heartbeat does.  "You can hear it?" he asks, voice thick.

Derek nods mutely and now his eyes are wide; he looks more frightened than Stiles can remember and he _sounds_ just as desperate. "I can make it… Five months.  The old house…  I can make it work."

Stiles twists around and latches onto Derek in a hug.  When Derek's arms come around him in return, he can feel how tense he is, how much he's waiting for Stiles to continue with his tangent on this all being a terrible, awful mistake.  That Stiles is going to shove him out the door and, now, take the pup with him.

"You're a moron," he mumbles.

Derek relaxes some and turns his head against Stiles', snuffling quietly behind his ear and neck.  Stiles got used to scenting and its purposes a while ago, but it never fails to tickle. Derek holds him tighter for a moment, letting out a baleful sound.  Troubled.  "I don't know how I missed the change in your scent…"  He sounds terribly disappointed in himself.

Stiles knows why.  It's because they've been bickering, been too focused on sniping at each other to notice anything else. 

Derek is quiet for several more moments before he quietly says, "I'm sorry…"

He sounds so _sad_ , so afraid that it tugs at Stiles' heartstrings.  Even if he's still kind of pissed off.  Stiles pulls back and grabs Derek's face, kisses the fool.  Derek doesn't hesitate to return it with every ounce of relief he's probably feeling and suddenly Stiles realizes that they haven't really had _any_ sex in the past week because of the all the quibbling.

That simply won't do. 

He lets out a low sound of pleasure, his residual anger softening around the edges as he remembers how good it feels to have Derek's lips against his own, how Derek's stubble scrapes his skin.  How good Derek's hands feel _touching_ him.

They're going to have a goddamn _baby_. 

They need makeup sex _right now_.

Fortunately, Derek has never been slow at catching on to plans like this so, when he starts guiding Stiles backwards, Stiles just goes with it.  He trusts Derek won't let him trip on anything, not until they get to their bedroom and the back of his knees catch on the edge of the bed.

It's slow and sweet and _good._

By the time they're a sweaty, sticky, exhausted mess, the sun is starting to set outside.  Stiles' stomach isn't all that queasy, he's actually really hungry as a matter of fact, but neither of them wants to get out of bed.

'Warm and fuzzy' doesn't even begin to describe what they're like post-makeup sex.

So Derek grabs his cellphone and orders Chinese because, even though he's not wild about it, Stiles wants it. 

While they wait for the delivery boy, Derek and Stiles talk about restoring the old Hale house.  Derek's pretty sure if he put the work in every day, maybe called Boyd, Peter and Isaac to help, they could get it done by the skin of their teeth.  Stiles thinks a construction crew would speed things way up too and, if they budget right, it won't kill them.  Not that much would _anyway,_ but Derek is still Scrooge McDuck when it comes to money.

When the food arrives, they eat right there in bed.  Once they're done, they take a shower together and it's a toss-up on who instigates the sexy fun in there, but soon they're back in bed and curled up together.

Derek's hand rests on Stiles' abdomen, even after they're asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took forever and a half, peeps. I've actually had the whole thing written out, but I honestly hated it and didn't know how to fix it until now. I _was_ going to post the other half of this story as one huge chapter, but I've decided to break it down into smaller chapters. It's the only way I'll get this updated and I'm fixing it up to my liking as I go.
> 
> Still not 100% happy with it, but I'm tired of looking at it and I'm tired of making y'all wait. So here it is! 
> 
> This hasn't been beta'd, so any flaws are all mine.

Pregnancy is a wonderful time. You’re positively _glowing_ ; people are going to compliment you on how radiant you look while growing new life inside your body. You’re going to be pampered and treated like royalty. People will give up their seats just so you don’t have to stand. You’ll get to eat for two, so no one’s going to give you shit about that fourth piece of pie.

Stiles thinks that’s all a load of _shit_.

“I swear to God, my stomach is just going to exit my body at some point,” he whines, voice echoing slightly from where his face rests.

On the toilet seat.

God his life is _gross_ right now.

“It’s not going to literally come out of your body,” Derek says, somehow – wisely – keeping exasperation from his tone. He rubs Stiles’ back, hip leaning against their bathroom counter. How Derek can tolerate standing in here while Stiles makes all manner of disgusting sounds and smells, Stiles doesn’t know.   “Do you want some tea?”

Stiles wrinkles his nose, stomach churning still. He hates tea. The only kind he likes is a heavily cream-and-sugared chai, but he really only drinks that during winter. Derek went and got him some ginger and peppermint tea from an honest to God _tea shop_ in the city over, but Stiles has yet to try it. He just doesn’t get _leaf water_. “God, fine. Anything to make this shit stop.”

Oh, sure, the morning sickness isn’t bad at first. And by _at first_ , he means the first week it begins. After that, his life has become a living hell of perpetual nausea and retching over things that didn’t normally bother him, typically just the smell of something. Also, why is it called _morning sickness_ when he’s running to the toilet to vomit at any given hour? He’s visited the porcelain god so often at three in the morning, Stiles officially knows the number of tiles in their bathroom. He feels cheated and lied to about this _blissful pregnancy_ business.

Several minutes later, Derek sets down a mug of hot tea, what smells like the ginger one. “Here. Should be cool enough to drink.”

At least the ‘pampered’ thing lives up to its hype. Too bad Stiles _hates_ being treated like a delicate dewdrop - because he’s _not_ \- and Derek’s going to get his balls ripped off if he keeps _hovering_. “I could have gotten it,” Stiles gripes, sending the mug a withering look while his stomach cramps.

Derek folds his arms and just arches a brow at Stiles, implying he’s debating making a sassy remark, but really just choking it down. It’s a thing Derek does now after having been snapped at for asking if Stiles is feeling okay _for the hundredth time…_ In an _hour_.

So now Derek just _hovers_ in the periphery of Stiles’ vision or close behind him, constantly looking like he’s choking down the question of whether Stiles is alright or not whenever Stiles’ stomach lets out terrible, ominous noises. It makes Derek look constipated, honestly. “Just try some…”

Stiles grumbles and released the side of the toilet bowl with a hand, grabs the mug and has a sip of the stupid leaf water. Which, is this even leaf water? Is it root water now because of it being ginger? _Ugh_ , there isn’t any milk or sugar in it either. “Whose bright idea was this whole baby thing, anyway?”

Derek has to leave the bathroom. Stiles assumes from the look on Derek’s face that it’s because he might have an aneurysm holding in the snark building up.

 

*

 

One night, Derek cooks some hamburgers for dinner, but Stiles thinks he’s absolutely going to _die_.

“This isn’t fair!” Stiles cries from where he’s seated in the hallway. The hallway outside their apartment, because he cannot go in there right now, not with that _smell. “_ I _love_ cheeseburgers! This is divine punishment for something, right?”This is really fucking heartbreaking for Stiles, okay? His body has decided that ground beef is now the foulest of poisons. His olfactory system has betrayed him by informing him the once heavenly aroma in the air is now a close cousin to _skunk_ _ass_. “This is because I convinced Greenburg back in first grade that everyone has just one giant buttcheek and because he had two he was defective, isn’t it?”

Derek pokes his head out from the apartment, expression a squinting, somewhat horrified sort of thing. “Stiles, you want to keep it down for the neighbors?” he asks sharply, ducking back inside. He’s been clamoring around in there for ten minutes now, opening up windows, turning on all the fans, keeping the door open. He took out the trash, where the burgers promptly got dumped the second Stiles started retching.

“Or is it because I convinced Scott that if he ate spiders he’d gain their power when we were five?” Stiles goes on, looking and sounding like the world is ending.

Derek doesn’t buy ground beef again.

 

*

 

Stiles makes an appointment to see the specialist Deaton knows; they’ll be going for his first checkup next week. Until then, Stiles is just going to try and keep eating in hopes of something staying down.

He’s also going to be sleeping like it’s an Olympic sport. He can’t even control it, oh _god_ , the _fatigue_. He didn’t know it would be this bad. Stiles finds himself getting up much later in the mornings and napping throughout the day, even when he goes to bed by midnight. He can’t watch a movie or read a book without zonking out five minutes in anymore, nor can he keep up with very long text conversations. His entire sleep schedule is so, _so_ fucked.

Mercifully, Derek can’t stick around to hover _all_ day, because he’s lived up to his word and has gathered the pack up to start work on the old Hale house. It’s going to be a beast of a project, but if it all works out, it’s going to make a hell of a home for them and their future brood.

Derek preferred that word over ‘litter’, because the guy still can’t take dog jokes to this day.

At least Allison knows what Stiles is going through. She’s a little ahead of him by maybe three weeks, so she’s doing a good job at letting him know what to expect as she works through her own trimester. Not that they know what his gestation is going to be like in comparison – at some point he’ll surpass her because his baby’s going to cook faster – but it’s kind of nice knowing there’s someone else that knows his suffering.

 

*

 

Another week goes by and Stiles discovers another lie. That ‘glowing’ thing? Yeah, that’s _sweat_. Lots of it. He disgusts himself with how much he’s starting to sweat now and Allison is right there with him in her own moist hell. How can Derek even stand it when they literally _peel_ _away_ from each other in the mornings? Stiles doesn’t even want to think about what he must smell like to wolfy noses and no amount of showering seems to help cut it down. _Ugh_ …

Then again, Derek’s wolfy tendencies seem to make him fond of things _normal_ people aren’t. So far _Eau de_ _Ripe Stiles_ hasn’t deterred Derek from cuddles or nuzzles.

Werewolves are _gross_.

 

*

 

The day comes for his first appointment with Dr. Fitzgerald. Totally not a name Stiles expected for a specialist on _dude pregnancies_ – he coined that term, no one’s allowed to claim it now – but that does make things a little entertaining at least. Derek’s there with him, of course, even though Stiles told him all they were going to do was run some tests and tell him where their little bundle o’ joy is on baking time.

“My guess is ninety-eight degrees for another five months or until fully adorable,” Stiles quips, smirking at his own wit. It’s truly outstanding sometimes.

Derek just looks at him, tragically cursed with a lesser sense of humor.

So here they are together, sitting in the waiting room at the hospital one town over. Stiles had to undergo the task of getting his blood drawn – which _still_ makes him queasy, even after all these years and everything they’ve been through – and he had to piss in a cup. Nothing will ever make handing over that warm plastic container to the nurse less than ten levels of fucking awkward.

Stiles sits on the exam table when they’re called in. He’s idly swinging a foot, looking at all the boring medical posters hanging on the walls, while Derek’s being an actual adult and sitting quietly on the single guest chair beside the table, flipping through a boring magazine. He puts it away after several long grueling minutes. Two more pass and the door opens and in steps Dr. Fitzgerald; he’s a tall, lanky man with hilariously _perfectly_ coiffed grey hair and a thick, bushy handlebar mustache that hides his upper lip. Just _completely_ , like a sentient mustache is growing and taking over Dr. Fitzgerald’s mouth.

Stiles really wants to see him wiggle it, but bites back the urge to ask because he’s adult.

Dr. Fitzgerald holds out a hand and Stiles claps his own into it with a crooked smile, greeting him simply, “Doc.”

“Mr. Stilinski,” Dr. Fitzgerald echoes with some amusement. Kudos to him for not trying on Stiles’ first name. He looks over a chart in his hand while he goes and leans against the counter, apparently choosing not to sit on the awesome rolling chair meant for the physicians. The one Stiles _wanted_ to sit on but Derek wouldn’t let him. “Deaton’s informed me of your situation. I’m happy to be overseeing your care from here on out. We should have your test results within twenty-four hours, but everything seems to be in order.”

“I guess that’s good, considering how nothing about this situation is actually normal,” Stiles quips.

Derek rolls his eyes, but at least the doctor is smirking. “How many _situations_ have you actually overseen?” Derek asks, fixing a look at the doctor with laser-like focus. Always looking out for his mate.

“Upwards of forty cases,” Dr. Fitzgerald answers pleasantly. “From various packs around the west coast; many came to visit, others I traveled out to by request. You’re in good hands. These are just the ‘special’ cases, too. It’s sort of my job to oversee the ‘normal’ cases.” He smirks a little with good humor.

Stiles feels a knot of tension he hadn’t realized was there loosen up in his gut. He sighs a little. “Awesome… So, uh… Anything I can do about the puke-marathon thing?” he asks with a hopeful note. “And the _constant_ sleeping?”

Dr. Fitzgerald’s lips twitch as he holds back a chuckle. _Fuck yes_ , his mustache does The Thing. Stiles is _so_ pleased about that. “Unfortunately not. Your body’s hormone levels are changing and, beyond watching your diet, it’s going to be something you’ll just have to deal with. If the vomiting becomes more severe and remains persistent to the point you can’t keep anything down, and if you begin to lose weight, then we’ll revisit the issue. For now, you’re just going through the typical morning sickness and systemic changes.”

Stiles sighs, obviously not happy with that answer. Derek rests a hand on his knee in a slim offering of comfort. Stiles drops his hand on top Derek’s to just accept it, because he might as well make his peace with it now. “Great…” _Not_. “Deaton said this should happen faster than the norm. Maybe it’ll stop sooner…”

Dr. Fitzgerald purses his lips. “Not always. But let’s not focus our worries on that, alright?”

Stiles didn’t want to hear that and he groans a little. “Dude, just lay it on me. What else should I be expecting here?”

Dr. Fitzgerald proceeds to inform Stiles of just what he can expect as his gestation speeds along; it sounds like he might have some growing pains with how fast the fetus is going to be developing, but he puts Stiles’ fear to rest that the kid won’t _actually_ punch its way out of him.

Derek rolls his eyes so hard over that, he probably sees the back of his skull, but Stiles has a right to worry, alright? Baby werewolf chestbursters are a legit fear.

The doctor goes on to inform them that their kid _does_ stand a chance of not being a werewolf. Derek is sure to voice his honest opinion that it doesn’t matter to him what the child is, so long as it and Stiles remain healthy after all is said and done. Stiles just smiles a little over that, because Derek is secretly the biggest Hallmark cliché’ alive. No one believes Stiles when he tries to tell them this.

Stiles is told he’ll carry slightly higher due to his pelvic structure and, in the end, it’s _not_ going to be comfortable, but he _will_ live. Stiles had _so_ hoped to run a marathon – _not_ – but the expected shortness of breath is going to dash that nonexistent dream. He’ll find a way to carry on. He also doesn’t expect he’ll want to be seen in public much by the end, so Stiles isn’t terribly heartbroken to be told he’ll have to carefully watch his wardrobe unless he’s alright being stared at.

Hint: He’s _not_. Ergo, Stiles plans to become a recluse.

Derek just rolls his eyes at this and suggests they can always say it’s a change in his medication making him gain weight, which leads them into a discussion on whether or not his Adderall is actually okay for him to keep taking while he’s carrying. Short story is it’s not because it’s technically a class C drug, which means it’s unknown if it’ll affect the baby in-utero or not. And because Stiles’ gestation is already deemed a high-risk – and even _if_ he could be carrying a supposedly super resilient werewolf fetus – Dr. Fitzgerald wants to switch him over onto something else just to be safe.

So yeah, the lie about him getting fat from a different medicine might not be an actual full lie. Stiles will just have to hope he survives this long enough to try and get his svelte figure back after baby or Derek might never look at him again. It took Stiles years to get over the unfair imbalance of hotness between Derek and himself, with Derek constantly telling him that he’s just being ridiculous.

Dr. Fitzgerald is going to write him a prescription for some supplements to take so he doesn’t get too drained, plus it’ll be good for his new passenger. Stiles’ checkups will be frequent, because of the high-risk thing, but the way Dr. Fitzgerald conducts the conversation leaves both Stiles and Derek pretty comforted.

The appointment ends with an ultrasound. He doesn’t know how the hell Dr. Fitzgerald can tell what’s what on the screen, it’s all blobby to him.

“Seriously, you must do great with Rorschach tests,” Stiles says, squinting at the screen. He’s also trying to ignore his _extremely full bladder_ and the wand thing putting pressure on it.

Dr. Fitzgerald huffs softly in amusement, but pauses the screen with a pleased look. “There we are,” he says, pointing out the little tiny blob that’s apparently their baby.

Stiles can _kind_ of see it… but not really. “Uh…”

Derek doesn’t seem to be having trouble seeing it, because he’s suddenly smiling.

“Here, let me see if I can get the heartbeat up,” Dr. Fitzgerald says. His mustache swishes some as he tinkers at the machine, the room filling with a series of sounds a few minutes later.

 _That_ Stiles can pick up. That rapid, soft, glorious fluttering of a little heartbeat. _That’s_ their child, alive and growing and so, _so_ beautiful to his ears. “Hey, baby…” he murmurs, smiling slowly.

Beside him, Derek slides his hand over Stiles’ knee and squeezes gently, looking like that sound means _everything_.

 

*

 

Derek and Stiles leave with a mixture of awe and wonder and _nerves_.

Stiles is sitting back in the passenger seat of Derek’s car, letting it all just sink in more. The reality of the situation hadn’t _really_ hit him until he heard that heartbeat, but it was honestly the look on Derek’s face that got him. He knows how important this is to Derek, how big it is for _both_ of them. It’s just that until now, he’s only felt like he’s had a prolonged flu with the hope of it being something more. But now they have a picture of their little peanut-blob baby, its heartbeat still ringing in their ears, fresh to memory.

Derek drives them out of the parking lot, heading home for the apartment.

Stiles blows out a long breath, drawing a curious glance from him. “We’re havin’ a baby, Derek.”

Derek’s brows raise and he nods, focused on the road. There’s a dazed smile that hasn’t really left Derek’s lips yet. “We are.”

“A real, tiny little human being. Or wolf. _Puppy_ , oh my god Derek, we could be having a _puppy_.”

“Stiles, it’s a _baby_. Not a _puppy_.”

“A baby,” Stiles echoes, dazed and amazed. “How are you not in awe of this?”

Derek _laughs_. Stiles loves how it sounds. “Trust me, I am.” The smile that stays on his face could light the entire Earth for at least ten years, Stiles is pretty sure. “I’m in awe every day that my life even _is_ what it is now…”

Stiles looks back out the window ahead and grins the whole way home, rubbing a hand low over his abdomen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long guys. I'm a worm. I'll try not to take so long on the next installment. I'll try to hurry up and get the rest posted, but I still have to break the rest down and get it fixed up.
> 
> Hope this chapter wasn't a complete disappointment, especially considering the long wait. More to come!
> 
> Find me [here](http://gigacat.tumblr.com/) at Tumblr.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I hate to say it, but I've had the damnedest time getting this fic done. With the lack of Teen Wolf (because I quit after S3B) to fan my Sterek fire, it's been hard getting the inspiration up for getting this properly fixed how I want it. 
> 
> I AM NOT LEAVING THE STEREK FANDOM. It's just that my muse left the building faster than Elvis. 
> 
> So here's what I'm going to do - I'm just going to post EVERYTHING. I did manage to finish the story before my muse left, it's just... incredibly unpolished. So everything you read now is raw, unbeta'd beyond a quick glance, etc.. Any errors/stupidity you come across is all on me and I apologize. Also I keep fighting with the spacing, so more apologies for any weird formatting that happens.
> 
> I'm trash. Utter garbage. I really hope the rest of this doesn't disappoint you peeps. Y'all have been so patient and I let you guys down on; I'm going to limit myself to oneshots in the future I think, ugh...

Progress continues on the Hale house. What little can be salvaged from its decrepit state has been, and foundation repair plus framework begins the following month.

So far Stiles has survived the morning sickness, but the smell sensitivity is getting _worse_. The aversion to hamburger continues, with the latest addition on his ‘Fuck No’ list being garlic. It _sucks_ , because there’s a lot of awesome food he loves that has garlic in it. Pasta just isn’t the same without garlic bread, and he doesn’t have the heart to want to eat it anymore, stubbornly hoping this aversion passes soon.

Derek is sure to eat his cheeseburgers and garlic knots and everything Stiles _can’t_ when he’s away working, and brushes his teeth the moment he’s home. If he had garlic, Derek tends to follow up with a healthy dose of mouthwash.

Speaking of which, they had to throw out the mint-flavored toothpaste because, for whatever reason, it made Stiles gag and he almost retched the next night trying to use it. They have vanilla-flavored toothpaste now and the mouthwash is berry, much to Derek’s chagrin.

 

*

 

It’s at this point that there’s the slightest of curves to Stiles’ lower abdomen. He’s competing with Allison now; he’s probably catching up to her in gestational time. Not that it’s a _race_. Which he’ll totally win if it is, but again, not the point. Stiles is happy to keep fitting his pants for as long as possible.

He’s been to another checkup and the latest ultrasound showed a slightly bigger blob-thing this time. Derek gets kind of pissy when Stiles refers to it as such, and insists they refer to it as their child or, at the very least, ‘the baby’.

Stiles starts calling it ‘Nemo’. Because it kind of looks like a fish-blob thing, get it? When it _actually_ starts to resemble something human, he’ll change it up.

Or maybe he’ll switch it up to ‘Mr. Bean’, just to piss Derek off.

 

*

 

At some point, the nausea actually tapers off some. Thank _God_. Stiles is _elated_ to be able to _eat_ without fear of his meal revisiting an hour later.

Stiles is expecting weird cravings to hit eventually, but honestly he’s just content eating whatever sounds good at the moment. Derek’s always pleased when he can bring something home for Stiles to eat, or when he can cook for him. It’s the one thing Stiles doesn’t mind as far as Derek’s attentiveness goes; Derek’s still annoying as shit with his hovering. But Stiles will let Derek have caveman comforts, providing for his mate and all that jazz. It’s kind of adorable sometimes, especially when Derek all but _preens_ when Stiles tells him how fucking good his chicken marinara is.

 

*

 

Stiles also gets these moods where he just doesn’t want to be touched, like, _at all_. It’s kind of terrible, because he knows how tactile werewolves are, especially Derek, which isn’t what he expected when he first hooked up with Derek; Stiles didn’t think Derek would be the giant, gooey pile of marshmallow fluff that he really. It was hidden underneath his Ogre-like onion exterior. So yeah, Derek _really_ loves to touch Stiles. Not just in sexy ways either; a brush to Stiles’ neck, touching Stiles’ lower back, holding Stiles’ shoulder or hand. Stiles kind of hates himself when he feels himself making a face and squirming to avoid Derek touching him when themood hits. He honestly barely notices he’s doing it until it’s too late, and it puts that really dejected, resigned, I-don’t-understand-but-I’ll-say-I-do-anyway look on Derek’s face.

Stiles’ father finds this eternally hilarious; apparently his mother was the same way when she was pregnant with Stiles. She was not an easy woman to deal with and, if anything, Stiles has always taken after her.

Which makes his dad a dirty rotten cheater when they visit one day, only for Stiles to catch his dad muttering quietly to Derek in the kitchen, smirking.

Foot rubs. _Sweet Jesus_. Derek had never given him a single foot rub up until this point, and he just _knows_ his father was the culprit cuing Derek in. Stiles can’t find it within himself to be too angry about it, even when it surpasses his ‘no touchy’ moods. Derek practically _glows_ when he sits and rubs Stiles’ feet for an hour, making Stiles all but melt into the couch because it’s so, _so_ good.

Derek is awesome with his hands. Stiles would know.

Thus, Derek is allowed to hover when it includes foot rubs and Stiles doesn’t bitch about it. He can’t even argue that his feet aren’t even swelling yet, doesn’t _want_ to because Derek might not rub them until they do. It’s a win-win.

 

*

 

Stiles isn’t entirely innocent of wanting to do some pampering of his own, either. Some days Derek leaves at eight in the morning and doesn’t get back until eight at night, the entire time spent working on the house. He usually comes in looking so worn out, smelling of wood and sweat – an admittedly nice combination – with his clothes coated in sawdust and dirt.

Oh, Stiles _tried_ to go and help with the house. _Once_. Derek practically tied him to the sofa afterward, reminding him quite firmly that he’s not to be doing anything strenuous. They might have had something of a fight that day. Stiles spent the entire time torn between fuming and sulking and they slept on their own sides of the bed that night. _Then_ Stiles had gotten upset because Derek had left without even an angry nuzzle, and Derek _always_ gives him nuzzles before he goes anywhere, okay?

So Stiles literally grabbed Derek’s head when he got home and shoved it to his neck, _made_ Derek give him some goddamn nuzzles, to which Derek looked poleaxed over for a few minutes. Then they both laughed their asses off. Derek had kissed Stiles, or maybe Stiles kissed Derek, and it was kind of sloppy and open and maybe they ended up banging on the couch…

But it’s the long days like this that make Stiles want to ask _Derek_ if he’s okay, if _Derek_ is tired and wants to relax, if _he_ needs anything. Sometimes Stiles does voice these questions and Derek doesn’t brush his worry off completely.

So maybe Stiles lets Derek pamper him more in return as a compromise.

 

*

 

Stiles is pretty sure he’s starting to get some nesting instincts. Every now and again, he has the sudden urge to clean the apartment. This includes moving things around; the armchairs and the couch and one of the rugs. He also gets sudden, _burning_ anger that they aren’t allowed to paint the walls, because he’d really like to put some color on their bedroom ceiling.

Stiles comforts himself knowing they’ll have a whole freakin’ house to style soon.

 

*

 

He’s pretty sure he catches Derek making _eyes_ at him one night when Derek is home, fresh from a shower, and Stiles has taken every blanket in the apartment and made an awesome, comfy-as-fuck nest on the couch to chill out in. And nap. Napping is important shit when you’re growing a minion.

Derek doesn’t even bitch about having to pull the comforters and sheets back to their bed when this happens. He’s too busy trying to sneak pictures on his phone, apparently proud his mate is nesting in an almost literal sense.

That’s when Stiles realizes they need an _actual_ camera, because they _will_ be taking pictures of their baby. Hell, they should be taking pictures of him as his pregnancy progresses. These are precious memories they’ll want to look back on; he’s heard his father say too many times that he’d wished he and his mom had taken more pictures of their lives before she passed away. Pictures can also get lost or _burned_ , as Derek knows, and Stiles nearly panics about it.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles says, gripping Derek’s arm tight, “we _need_ to go shopping tomorrow.” That grip gets painfully tight, though Derek only looks somewhat startled about it. “We need a camera and albums and stuff. We need to be taking pictures of everything!”

Derek blinks, brows up near his hairline. “Okay. Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees after a moment, nodding. He takes Stiles’ hand and gently pries it off his bicep so blood can flow freely in it again. He rubs his thumb in a soothing manner over Stiles’ knuckles, smiling a bit as Stiles promptly scoots closer to him on the couch and tucks up right under Derek’s arm. “You want to go shopping with Allison tomorrow? Scott mentioned she’s starting to get stuff for their baby.”

Stiles thinks this over, kind of put out Derek won’t be with him, but he nods; he can’t ask Derek to stop work on the house just because he’s feeling clingy. “Yeah, okay. I’ll text her and let her know, see what time she’ll be going out.”

So he does. He sets up a meeting time with Allison tomorrow morning. Then promptly smushes his cheek against Derek’s chest and wraps an arm around his waist, wanting some hardcore cuddling.

Derek is way too happy to oblige.

 

*

 

Allison makes mention that she’s been feeling a little moodier than usual lately when she and Stiles meet up the next morning. She went and found a yoga pregnancy DVD last month, and she somehow talks Stiles into coming over to do the routines with her. He agrees, if only because maybe sometimes afterward he can catch Scott for an impromptu bro gaming session; Stiles wants to feel like he has _balls_ again and bro time has been lacking lately because everyone is so busy.

Speaking of which, he’s pretty sure all testosterone exits his whole being the moment he steps into Babies ‘R Us with Allison. Dear _lord_ , he cannot wait to redeem his manliness when they hit Best Buy.

Allison grabs a cart and sighs, running a hand over her stomach, which hasn’t got much of a curve to it yet. “How’s your morning sickness going?” she asks, heading right for the aisle with the breast pumps and bottles. Stiles follows and really only vaguely wonders if Allison would have enough to share with his kid. He’s done his research; boob is better. But Stiles also doesn’t know how he feels about milk banks or just milk from someone else in general, plus _he_ did just fine on formula as a baby – at least according to dad he did – so he pushes the thought aside.

Stiles pockets his hands. “It’s gotten better. You still havin’ trouble?”

Allison nods with a distinctly cranky look crossing her face. She sighs. “Yeah. I almost threw up on Scott yesterday when he brought home turkey wraps.” She pouts. “I love turkey wraps. Or I thought I did…”

Stiles snirks, glancing over the nipple shields while Allison stops to look at the different pump types. “I feel your pain. Just because mine is getting better doesn’t mean it’s not there. Poor Derek, he tried to surprise me the other day with some of those blueberry muffins from that bakery down the street we like so much. I nearly yarfed on the box.”

Allison finally breaks into a little smile, so he counts it as a victory. She grabs up two pumps to compare, sighing. “So what are you going to do with your little one?”

“Well, let th’ doctor take it out. If it’s cute enough, I figure we’ll keep it an’ stuff…” he snarks.

Allison rolls her eyes and elbows him lightly. “For _food_ , Stiles.”

Stiles holds a hand to his chest and looks affronted. “ _Allison_ , eating babies is _frowned upon_. What’s wrong with you?”

She bites back a laugh. “ _Stiles_.”

He grins lopsidedly, ignoring the strange look they get from a pregnant woman passing by. Stiles shrugs. “I dunno. Formula is going to be the easiest. It’d be great to have a breastmilk source, but unless the kid’s a werewolf, I’m not sure I’m fully comfortable finding a bank…”

She nods in understanding. She puts the pumps back and makes a note in her phone before grabbing up a pack of bottles, plopping it in the cart. She leads the way for the next aisle over, which has a bunch of sleeping aids and body pillows and those weird donut-looking things for infants. “I’d offer to donate, but I don’t know how it’s going to go even for me, so…”

“Yeah. Don’t worry ‘bout it, plenty of babies grow up on formula just fine. What the hell is this?” He grabs up the pillow-donut with an admittedly cute little lion on it.

Allison smiles. “It’s a Boppy. So the baby has something to lounge on, and it keeps them from rolling. It also helps support them while breastfeeding.”

He grunts, giving the odd pillow a squeeze before putting it back. “There needs to be more stuff with wolves on them.”

She laughs and looks over the Boppy selection. “You’re so cute with your wolf obsession.”

He scoffs. “Well you and I _are_ both fuc-,“ another pregnant woman waddles by with a judgemental look, so he lowers his volume and checks his language,”- _canoodling_ with werewolves, you know. How can you _not_ want to feed into that?”

She shakes her head with amusement, selecting a Boppy with soft purple fabric and little sheep on it. “I guess I’m not as hung up on it.”

They continue on through the store, chatting as they go. Stiles makes notes on his phone as he goes, getting input from Allison on items he should be looking at getting soon too. She thought he’d be shopping with her, but Stiles wants Derek to be with him when they start getting baby stuff. For _reasons_.

She gives him a seriously doe-eyed look and chokes back an _awww_ , if only because Stiles looks cranky about it.

His resolve over not to get anything crumbles, though, when they pass by the bedding and he doubles back because _holy crap_ , they have _Lion King_ stuff. He thought everything was Winnie the Pooh and frickin’ zoo animals. But _Lion King_? Lion King is badass, and Stiles is so, _so_ tempted to get the whole set right then and there. Instead, he bites his lip and decides to take a picture to show Derek later. He is most certainly _not_ designing the nursery already, nope.

Stiles caves when they pass the clothes; there’s a onesie with little grey puppies _all over it_ , with big puppy faces for the feet. There’s even a matching beanie with pointy _ears_ on it. He can’t _not_ buy it right then and there.

And so he leaves the store with two items in a bag, helping Allison carry all of hers back to her car. From there they go to Best Buy to get Stiles’ camera. He did researching on the best model and brand to have and he bought it online. He did the whole free shipping to the store thing, so really all he’s doing is walking in and handing over his printed receipt, getting the item, and leaving.

He’s not sure how that evolved into standing in the waiting line behind a couple of people with a dude behind him giving him the eye.

Stiles isn’t even sure what it’s about, he just knows he’s being stared at. Scratch that, _leered_. He is being _leered_ at. He finds this eternally hilarious because the Stilinski charm apparently works even when pregnant. Even if he doesn’t _look_ pregnant yet…

It’s flattering, really. Poor sod doesn’t have a chance, though.

The dude still tries. Who even _does_ that? Who _flirts_ in line at a Best Buy? Stiles indulges the guy, because it’d just be embarrassing to shut the dude down right away, and Stiles is feeling generous.

Right up until the guy asks, “So, you’re single, right? ‘Cause you and me, we could have a lot of fun together…”

Stiles makes a really noisy, wet, bitten back sound of outright laughter before it just bursts right out of him madly. The guy looks perplexed before the offense sets in, but Stiles doesn’t give a shit, can’t _stop_ laughing because _oh God_ , it’s just so goddamn _funny_. The idea of _fun,_ as in _sex,_ with someone other than Derek is a joke. Seriously, people don’t know what they are missing without a werewolf so give them sweet, kinky lovin’.

The guy gives him the cold shoulder after that – poor fragile ego bruised – and Stiles doesn’t care, is still wiping tears from his eyes when he steps up to the counter and forks over his receipt. The clerk gives him a bemused look, but says nothing. Stiles takes his bag and heads back out to Allison, gleefully sharing his story with her.

Even Allison has to grin about it and bite her lip; yeah, that’s what he thought. They’re spoiled for sex with other normal, boring humans.

Good boy, Scott.

 

*

 

Stiles shares the tale when Derek calls to check in on him around lunch time – he and Allison found a place that serves pretty awesome soup – and Derek isn’t as amused, if only because Derek is caught on the fact that someone hit on him today. Stiles can still hear the smirk in his voice when Stiles tells him how he ended up laughing his way out of the store because nothing will ever trump their sexcapades.

Then it hits Stiles that oh, _shit_ , they haven’t banged in almost two weeks. That’s just… that’s just _tragic_. He knows Derek is patient on a saintly level, but Stiles isn’t even purposely holding out on him. It’s just his moods have been _everywhere_ , what with the no touchy thing, and Derek comes home pretty tired from working his ass off on the house. Apparently they’re making good time on it, which is really fantastic news, seriously. But Stiles feels kind of bad because Derek’s been putting up with him being downright nasty sometimes and not even getting a bone or two out of it.

He needs to correct this. Except, Derek comes home later that evening – later than usual by like two hours – with honest to God _bags_ under his eyes. Stiles is freshly showered and fed and his stomach is staying quiet. He’s draped himself on the couch in just his Spiderman boxers, channeling one of his best _my body is ready_ expression. He’s even half-hard from thinking about getting up to some sexy fun, but Stiles watches Derek and the zombie-esque way he trudges right on by him for the bathroom, snorting in a very unattractive manner – the kind where your nose is stuffed but runny at the same time – and Stiles sighs.

That probably explains why Derek didn’t scent Stiles’ hormones.

Stiles sits up when he hears the shower kick on and he goes and pulls on a shirt. Then he stretches out on their bed, propped against some of their pillows, and he waits.

When Derek comes out, nude as usual, he glances at Stiles as if noticing him for the first time. Derek smiles softly, tiredly. He walks over and sprawls on his stomach on the bed, crawling over to Stiles before slinging an arm over Stiles’ hips.

“Hey.” Derek mushes a cheek against Stiles’ side.

Stiles smiles fondly and drapes an arm over Derek’s gorgeous back, fingers tracing his tattoo. “Long day?”

Derek grunts. “Long day. I have so much dust and crap in my nose, I can barely smell anything…”

Stiles feels guilty. He wants to help with the house so badly, but he really isn’t allowed to do a lot of anything strenuous. He sighs and rubs Derek’s shoulder blades with his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Derek mumbles, rubbing his face against Stiles’ side some and nuzzling at his lower abdomen. “The roofing trusses go up tomorrow morning. Some more reinforcing and then we can start getting it fleshed out.”

Stiles smiles softly. “Sounds good. Just don’t wear yourself out. You might have stamina out the ass, but you’re not Superman.”

Derek lets out a noise that he’s listening, but then he’s closing his eyes and putting his head closer to that subtle curve on Stiles’s lower gut; Derek is becoming notorious for trying to sneak it by Stiles, but Stiles knows he has a thing about listening to Nemo’s heartbeat.

Stiles smirks. Their _baby’s_ heartbeat. He just cards his fingers through Derek’s thick, soft hair. “Guess what I found at Babies ‘R Us today.”

Derek blinks his eyes open and looks upwards some at Stiles, brows rising in question.

“They had a whole set of Lion King stuff. For like, the crib and wall,” Stiles says. “I took a picture, but I don’t wanna move to get my phone. “

Derek smiles. “You’ll have to show me in the morning then. Sounds cute.”

Stiles chuckles. “Yeah. I want to wait to buy stuff ‘til you can be there with me, but I did find two things I couldn’t leave without. But you’ll have to wait for morning to see those too.”

“You want me there when you start buying baby stuff?” Derek asks, likes he’s not sure he believes it.

Stiles nods. “Well, _yeah_. You know how we agree on things.” Which is to say, _sometimes_. “I don’t wanna decorate our kid’s nursery in stuff you’ll hate. “

Derek seems pleased to hear that, purses his lips some in the way he always does when suppressing a smile. “Then we’ll set aside a day to go shopping for the baby.” He rubs his thumb along Stiles’ other side, finally tilts his head to look up at him. “So I happened to notice you all stretched out on the couch…”

Stiles snorts, grinning. “An’ here I thought you didn’t...”

Derek smirks some too and arches a sassy brow. “Have any plans you wanted to share?”

Stiles really does think about telling Derek his sexy plans for this evening, but he takes a look at the dark circles under Derek’s eyes and his smirk softens. “I did, but they can wait. You look really fuckin’ tired.”

Derek huffs softly and rubs his hand up and down Stiles’ abdomen, up under his shirt. It’s meant to be soothing, but the heat of his hand _does things_ for Stiles. “I’m not about to pass out.”

Stiles can’t help but laugh quietly; poor man’s going to cast off sleep for some sex. It really has been too long. “Sure, make _me_ look like the prude for makin’ you go to sleep instead of gettin’ some,” he teases. “C’mere.”

Derek sits up and Stiles slides more onto his back, letting Derek situate himself between his knees and push his shirt up. Derek leans right in to nuzzle at Stiles’ neck and Stiles more than happily tilts his head to offer up more. Derek lets out a pleasant hum before his lips seal a kiss right at the junction between shoulder and neck. Stiles can’t help a grin when Derek starts sucking what will be an angry-looking hickey there, because Stiles _totally_ knows why; his last set of marks faded.   He rarely goes without one because Derek is a remarkably possessive, jealous bastard in mostly adorable ways. So Stiles gets a lot of dirty looks for sporting hickies all the time, but it’s pretty entertaining to him.

He threads a hand into Derek’s hair and curls his fingers, pulling at it some. “Easy now. Dude at Best Buy wasn’t even that smokin’.”

Derek pulls back and looks over his work with a satisfied glint in his eyes, then tries to look innocent when he meets Stiles’. “Who?”

Stiles _laughs_ and smacks Derek’s arm. “Don’t give me that bullshit!”

Derek gives him a shit-eating grin, not an ounce of guilt there. It softens into something fonder as he traces his thumb over the mark. “It works better than a ring…”

Mostly true. Stile gives Derek a sassy look. “Wouldn’t know that since we don’t _have_ rings.” He pauses and blinks. “Wait, why don’t we have rings?”

Derek has moved on to kiss and lick little wet trails down Stiles’ neck. “We’re not married.”

“Why aren’t we married?”

Derek pauses and sits up enough to look at Stiles quizzically. “I… don’t know. Is it legal here again?”

“I think so,” Stiles answers, unsure.

“Do you want to get married?” Derek goes on.

“Well we’re werewolf-married, why shouldn’t we be people-married?” Stiles retorts.

Derek considers this and nods. “Okay. So we’ll get married then. Look it up tomorrow, see if it’s legal again.”

Stiles nods and Derek goes back to landing kisses to his sternum now, having skipped over the bunched fabric of his shirt. Stiles sits up enough to just pull the damn thing off and toss it aside. Slowly, the idea that they’re getting _married_ by human standards sinks in, and he grins a little more with each passing moment. He’s kind of giddy about it. “Wait,” he says suddenly. “I don’t wanna marry you.”

Derek stops and looks up at him with some alarm. “What?”

Stiles grins and wiggles his brows, petting his hands over Derek’s ridiculous cheeks. “Not ‘til you get down on a knee and ask me all proper like, and not ‘til you’ve got a ring to show for it.”

Derek huffs out a laugh with some relief, shaking his head. “Seriously, Stiles?”

“ _Yeah_ seriously, _Derek_ ,” Stiles quips. “You’re makin’ an honest man outta me here, we’re having a _baby_. We did a lot of things the wolfy way. Time to do some stuff the people way.”

Derek rolls his eyes and looks long-suffering about it, but there’s amused exasperation there too. “Just tell me we’re not going to try and plan some huge shindig around the marriage.”

“ _Ha_ , you said _shindig_. But no, _God_ no. “ Stiles makes a face. “We’ll do a justice of the peace sort of thing, just go sign our papers, have dad and maybe Scott and Allison as witnesses, then kiss and be done with it.”

Derek gives Stiles a look. “You know Lydia won’t be happy.”

It’s Stiles’ turn to roll his eyes. “It’s not Lydia’s wedding… But, I guess we could let her plan a _small_ party afterwards or something…”

Derek shakes his head and tries to stifle a yawn, but Stiles sees it and smirks fondly. He shakes his head and tugs at Derek’s arm. “Okay, sleepy wolf, come on. Time for bed.”

Derek scowls at him, but its affect is lost with the subtle pout on his lips. “I’m fine-“

Stiles shakes his head again. “Nope, come on. Think of all the fun we can have in the _morning_ before you go to work. All that renewed energy.”

Derek caves, shifting away from between Stiles’ legs to instead stretch out beside him again. He curls close against Stiles as Stiles turns to face him, and they sling their arms over each other’s’ waists.   Derek, grown ass man that he is, mumbles sulkily about not being _that_ tired. But Derek’s dick isn’t even jabbing against Stiles’ thigh, which means he _is_ that tired. Stiles would know.

He tries to soothe the crankiness with some kissing. It works well enough. They get settled on the covers, Derek more than enough heat for the both of them and, for all the pouting Derek does, he’s out like a light in less than five minutes.

Stiles smiles when Derek adjusts so that he can tuck his head under Stiles’ chin, face buried against his neck. Stiles pets a hand gently through Derek’s hair some before settling in and falling asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, right after breakfast, after Stiles has shown off the picture of the Lion King baby stuff and proudly displayed the dog onesie and hat – to which even Derek was not immune from its charms – Stiles is struck by a new mood swing; Derek has never looked more like walking _sex_ than at that very moment.

So of course Stiles makes him late getting to work because he _needs_ dick. He needs it _now._ Needs it like he needs _air_.

Derek’s way too happy to give in. Stiles is pretty sure Derek’s going to get teased for it, but it’s nothing Derek won’t be outright smug about.

 

*

 

Stiles is more worried about his sanity when, a week later, he suddenly needs cheesecake about as badly as he needed Derek’s dick in his ass. But not just _any_ cheesecake, oh no. There needs to be black olives on it, too.   For _reasons_. So he drives to the store and gets it himself, horrified and ashamed, yet so, _so_ happy. Especially when he gets home and drains the olives before sprinkling them on that glorious cheesecake.

A thick pile on top his slice, it’s like ambrosia on his tongue. A glass of chocolate milk – extra chocolate – accompanies it.

Stiles is _mortified_.

After he freaks himself out with another slice, and when the craving passes, he can’t even salvage the rest of the cheesecake. What little juices were on the olives has soaked into it. So he sticks it in the fridge, buries it under bags of lettuce and vegetables in hopes Derek doesn’t discovery the monstrosity.

Derek discovers it. With a look on his face as if Stiles has stashed a human hand in there.

Stiles doesn’t know why, but with that look he just bursts into tears. Not even _pretty_ tears. No, he’s got the _ugly_ cries going on. “Don’t blame me, blame the baby!”

Derek now has the exact same look on his face a deer probably gets when facing a werewolf-related death. His mouth opens and closes a few times, utterly blindsided by the waterworks. Derek closes the door of the fridge quickly and makes an aborted move towards Stiles, not sure what to do, like if he gets too close it’ll just make Stiles cry _more._ “I wasn’t, it’s just,” he stammers, frantic, and _that_ makes Stiles feel worse _._ “No, no, it’s fine, it’s _so_ fine, Stiles. I was just, it was just shocking is all. Don’t cry…!”

Stiles should be laughing right now, but instead he leans against one of the counters and yanks a paper towel off the roll because it’s closer than tissues. He uses it to wipe at his nose. “You think I’m _gross_ ,” he accuses sadly, still very much crying, it’s just that the heavy part is suddenly over; he’s giving himself emotional whiplash here. “ _I_ think it’s fucking gross, okay? _I_ had to eat it. And I thought it was _amazing_. You saw those olives, Derek, it was fucking awful!”

Derek nods, utterly helpless here because if there’s one thing Derek can’t handle – actually there’s a _lot_ Derek can’t handle – it’s people crying. “Yeah, no, that’s fine, Stiles,” he says, coming over and gently running his hands up and down Stiles’ arms. “It’s expected, right? Weird cravings and all that…”

Stiles nods some, reduced to sniffling. He blows his nose noisily and throws the paper towel into the waste bin – three points! – and then he smushes his face against Derek’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, suddenly embarrassed. “I don’t know why I freaked out…”

Derek relaxes more, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ shoulders. He nuzzles at the crown of his head. “Hormones.”

Stiles grunts and sulks against Derek’s chest where it’s warm and cozy. He lets Derek guide him off to the couch to cuddle, so long as he doesn’t try to peel Stiles away; he’s in the mood to be a barnacle now, just wanting to be against Derek and feel him there.

Derek’s happy to provide.

 

*

 

As a little more time passes, Stiles’ bump finally becomes more noticeable. It’s still small, and his jeans still fit – tightly so, but he’s not getting new ones till he absolutely has to – and it’s at this time that Stiles decides it’s time to start communicating with the baby. It probably doesn’t even have ears formed yet, but whatever. Never too early to start, right? So he goes to a bookstore one day and finds as many kids book as possible, including a lot of the stuff he grew up on.

He’s suddenly struck by the thought that he’s never asked Derek what _he_ grew up on as a kid. Like, are there stories for werewolf children?

He makes a note to ask Derek later. For now, he gets what he wants and goes to hang out with Allison and Lydia for the afternoon. Lydia is obsessively tracking his gestational cornerstones just like she’s doing for Allison. Stiles is _pretty_ sure she’s living vicariously through them, since it’s not likely Lydia will settle down anytime soon, let alone have kids of her own. Not until later in life at least. That much fierce fabulousness needs time to work it’s _thang_ for the world before reproducing.

Stiles and Allison’s bumps match now, so of course Lydia already has a very cute picture idea for them, but they’ll need Derek and Scott for it. So for now, she takes a picture of Stiles standing with his side facing the camera, his shirt up to show off the tiny bump. Lydia’s going to take a new picture of him – and Allison – in the exact same pose each month.

 

*

 

Later that day, Stiles kicks around some ideas on a book he’d like to start working on soon. Then he starts reading one of the books he got to Nemo. He did get a couple baby books for Derek and him to go through, the kind with like a bazillion different names – a fight just waiting to happen, probably – when Stiles just feels so _lonely_ all of a sudden. So aching lonely, he ends up crying again, and then he gets nauseated enough that he goes to dry heave in the bathroom for a while.

When Derek gets homes, Stiles is curled up against the wall opposite the toilet, eyes red and puffy. Derek goes and crouches down by Stiles with concern on his face, his hand sliding over the back of Stiles’ neck while Derek asks if he had a bad day with his stomach.

Stiles shakes his head and tells Derek it was because he felt so lonely all of a sudden, it actually made him sick.

Derek promptly looks wounded, guilty, which makes _Stiles_ feel guilty, and then Stiles starts crying again, but not as grossly as last time. Derek frowns and gathers him up in his arms and carries him to the couch.

Stiles doesn’t bother protesting and all too eagerly curls up with Derek there, even when Derek smells like a hard day of work. Like sweat and wood and metal, with a little hint of the forest there.

Stiles goes from weepy clingy mess to _horny_ clingy mess in about point five seconds. _Again_ with the emotional whiplash.

Derek’s a trooper though and goes with it, because if anything, his dick is rarely confused when Stiles’ body starts unloading hormones into the air.

 

*

 

Eventually they take a shower together and curl up in bed after a quick dinner of frozen pizza. Derek is tucked against Stiles’ abdomen again, ear to the bump while one hand gently pets at it. Stiles feels content and quiet, just cozily lying there watching Derek. He had slowly filled Derek in on how his day went earlier, about the photos with Lydia and the books he picked up.

“Did you guys hear different kinds of stories growing up?” he asks, his hand petting idly through Derek’s hair.

“Yeah,” Derek answers, eyes closed for the most part. “We still got a lot of the basics, though. Practically everything you bought today. But there were some stories that are passed down from generations, pack to pack, that were unique. Some are spins on old classics…”

“Think you remember enough to write some down for our kid?”

“I might…” Derek’s eyes open and he looks up at Stiles then. “Why don’t I take off early from the house tomorrow? We could set that thing up with Lydia, just spend a day with each other… You wanted to start shopping soon, right?”

Stiles smiles hesitantly. “Yeah. That’d be awesome, but I don’t wanna pull you from work. Don’t wanna set us behind just ‘cause I’m a hormonal basket case right now…”

Derek smiles a little lopsidedly. “We’re actually a little bit ahead of our own schedule on progress. The others would understand. They’ll live without me for a day; they can’t possibly fuck anything up right now...”

Stiles’ lips curve more without the hesitance, but then they quickly pull into a grin. “Alright. We’ll play hooky tomorrow.”

Derek huffs out a chuckle and goes back to nuzzling at the baby bump, his favorite thing to do. Stiles doesn’t pinch Derek’s ear so long as he watches the beard burn.

 

*

 

The next day Derek gets home around eleven. He takes a shower and changes into some fresh clothes, then heads out with Stiles. They meet with Lydia for lunch and she tells them all about her idea for the pregnancy progression photos, and Derek thinks it’s so ridiculous it’s perfect. Of course Stiles thinks it’s _awesome_. She also has an idea for the baby’s announcement, even though they’d only go out to a handful of people. It’s all going to make for great mementoes to keep.

They set up and take some of the very first pictures for the set, and Lydia gets them scheduled in for when they’ll need to do the rest.

From there, Stiles and Derek head to Babies ‘R Us, where Stiles finally loses his mind shopping. Derek trails after him with the cart like a faithful hound, and of course there’s some bickering to be had. Especially when they get to the bedding and cribs, because Stiles can’t make his mind up on a theme yet; half of him wants to get some custom order stuff on Etsy or something, the other half wants to get the Lion King stuff or a _really fucking adorable_ sheep set.

They leave with a lot of stuff. Not everything, but enough to give them a good foundation, plus a starting place for Stiles to think about as far as nursery theme goes. Derek’s a little cranky because of the bickering and length of time they spend there – somewhere near four hours – but because Stiles is happy, if but very tired now, Derek doesn’t say anything.

They get home and Stiles promptly curls up for a nap on the couch while Derek gets started on dinner. Derek then sits down nearby, writing while Stiles sleeps.

Stiles only notices because he doesn’t fully doze off until Derek is sitting down with a pencil in one hand and a notepad in the other.

Later on that night Stiles does some research on if marriage is legal again for same-sex couples in the state of California; lucky for them, it is. Derek sleeps while Stiles browses rings online, unable to sleep yet because of nausea. Well, and he’s still happily wired about the overall good day.

 

*

 

At his next checkup with Dr. Fitzgerald, Nemo is officially a human-ish sort of thing on ultrasound. Stiles is actually thinking it almost looks like a Pikman thing, or a really weird Pokemon. Thus, Nemo becomes Pikachu.

Derek is _not_ amused, but Stiles sure as hell is.  

Erica agrees with Stiles when he shows her the latest pictures from the ultrasound at a pack lunch, but she mostly does it just to spite Derek. Peter is silently amused and Chris only rolls his eyes with a little smirk of his own – seriously, who thought those two would get together? – when Boyd brings up the subject about names, which Melissa enthusiastically supports.

“We haven’t really looked through the books yet,” Derek says.

“Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?” Erica asks eagerly. “No offense, Derek, but God help it if it’s a girl and she gets your eyebrows.”

Derek gives Erica a withering look and Stiles chokes back a laugh. Stiles’ dad looks pretty damn humored right now.

“So long as the baby and Stiles are healthy, I’m happy,” Derek tells her somewhat primly.

Erica rolls her eyes. “That is such a generic answer.”

“It’s still a good answer,” Melissa points out with an amused look.

“To be honest, I don’t really care if it’s a boy or girl either way,” Stiles chimes in before Derek starts trying to light Erica aflame with his Alpha Eyes. “Hell, if we survive one, we’ll probably try for another.”

_That_ gives Derek a melty, enamored kind of look. Peter snorts over his nephew’s expression, while John puffs up happily; he’s totally looking forward to grandkids. Lots of them.

“We’re hoping for a girl,” Scott pipes up proudly. Allison only smiles from beside him. “She’ll be the most adorable baby ever.”

Derek arches a brow. “Maybe it’ll have the biggest doe-eyes ever, but have you seen Stiles’ nose?” Stiles almost chokes on the piece of carrot he was swallowing, but Derek shakes his head sagely and goes on. “Not a chance.”

Scott’s brows lower and he gives Derek an assessing look. Derek continues eating like he didn’t just clearly issue a _my baby is cuter than your baby_ challenge when said babies haven’t even been _born_ yet.

Stiles is going to die inhaling food while laughing before it ever happens. What just happened here?

Allison covers her mouth so no one can see her grin with her mouth full and Erica is snorting unattractively into her glass of Pepsi. Boyd and Isaac are smirking and Peter is not so subtly laughing his ass off, while Chris loses his poker face due to mirth. John is smirking, because Stiles’ dad will of course be on Stiles’ side here.

Scott points to Allison’s face. “Dimples. _Dimples_. Our baby will totally have dimples, and that makes everything cuter by like, fifty percent.”

Derek scoffs. “That doesn’t even make sense, and dimples don’t make _everything_ cuter. _Freckles_ make everything cuter. And moles.”

“Oh my god, moles _really_ do not make everything cuter,” Scott argues.

“So what do you think of ‘Harley’?” Stiles says loudly, hoping to derail the entire conversation.

“We are not naming our child ‘Harley’,” Derek retorts without missing a beat.

Stiles grins as other name suggestions start flying from everyone, and Derek argues them all; mission accomplished. He’s learned something about Derek today though; apparently Derek’s going to be one of _those_ dads. The kind that thinks their kid is the cutest, most awesome thing to walk the planet.

Stiles is going to have his work cut out for him and, by the shit-eating grin on his dad’s face, John agrees.

 

*

Another month and another set of pictures with Lydia later, and Stiles is mostly beyond the morning sickness now. _Now_ there’s back pain starting in and the skin on his abdomen feels uncomfortably tight at times. Tight and _itchy_. He’s taken to using some of the belly butter Allison recommended, and it helps a little bit. Stiles entertains the idea of getting away with this without stretch marks, but he knows better than to get his hopes up.

Whatever though; he’ll wear his stripes with pride.

 

*

 

Stiles came up with the idea last week to start writing letters to the baby, like maybe it’ll help him connect with it more. Hell, he’ll even give the kid the letters when it’s old enough. It should get a chuckle out of it, if anything.

So far his short little letters consist of:

_Dear Baby,_

_We just got a new picture of you today. You still look like a warped fish thing, which is cool. I decided to call you ‘Nemo’. Don’t worry, you’ll definitely get to watch that movie someday. You’ll get the reference. It makes your ~~other dad~~ Papa mad, but I think it’s funny. Papa’s got a lame sense of humor, but I’ sure you’ll figure that out. Unless you get his sense of humor. I guess I could forgive you for that. You need to grow some fingers and stuff though, okay? I’m trying to figure out a name and it’d be really helpful if you’d figure out what bits you’re gonna have. Not that I’ll judge if you decide you don’t like your bits or something when you get here. I’m a progressive dad. No pressure. _

_Dear Baby,_

_Gonna teach you how to play video games when you’re old enough. So yeah, work on those digits, okay? I’ve been reading to you every day, because I think you’ll be a bookworm. I’m trying to give you a head start on it. Just don’t tell Papa I occasionally read you some of my Batman stuff, okay?_

_Dear Baby,_

_Please stop making me eat weird shit. The hell is wrong with you? Nacho cheese on chocolate ice cream, REALLY!? Do you like the added essence of my tears, too? Do they make you grow faster? Because I wept into that bowl, dude._

_Dear Baby,_

_Hurry up with those appendages. Papa is DYING to feel a kick. Just don’t do it to my bladder, okay?_

*

 

The letters are somewhat dated now, as by the next ultrasound they find that their baby _finally_ starts to resemble an _actual_ tiny baby fetus thing. With, like, tiny little arms and legs. Much less fish Pokémon, more humanoid.

Stiles will catch up on his letters soon. He’s been preoccupied figuring out how he’s going to present Derek’s ring to him. It took Stiles _forever_ to find the right one, but he thinks he nailed it; it’s a thick platinum band with a small, solitaire diamond. Derek doesn’t like flashy things, but Stiles didn’t like the plain bands, either. He dug a little into his savings to have _my sun and stars_ engraved on the inside. It’s a thing Derek and he have going on between them; Derek’s a closeted _geek_ , which gives Stiles the biggest fucking hard on, and there has most _certainly_ been some role-playing. Stiles doubts Derek’s has anything like the other half of the saying engraved in his own ring, seeing as how Derek hasn’t given Stiles his ring yet either, but that’s fine.

They’ve only just _now_ set a day to go to get hitched. It’s going to be a simple justice of the peace sort of thing, just like they’d talked about.

Lydia assured them she’ll be planning an after-party when it’s done.

The big day gets closer and closer and soon, Stiles gets tired of trying to think of some elaborate, grossly schmoopy way to present the ring. So one night after being blindsided by a horny mood swing, Stiles rolls over and digs out the box from under the mattress. The sweat hasn’t even dried on his skin yet and there’s come leaking out his ass and Derek’s still licking at his ribs. But Stiles flattens out on his back again and grins, panting as he wiggles the box. “Guess what I got you?”

Derek blinks slowly at it, his pupils still blown wide and his eyes pretty heavily glazed, but he’s sated enough to gather the brain cells required to respond. “Is that my ring?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “No, it’s the very small still-beating heart of our enemies.”

Derek ignores the snark and smiles, propping himself up better on his elbows. He takes the box with his clean hand – his other has lubed-smeared fingers – and he opens it up.

Stiles wants to preen over the look Derek gets when he plucks out the band and looks over it closely, especially lighting up over what’s on the inside. Derek looks torn then, because he doesn’t want to touch it with his lube-fingers. Stiles snirks and takes it from him, sliding it on the correct finger of Derek’s left hand. It fits his finger beautifully.

Derek grins brightly and surges up to kiss Stiles, wet and open and sloppy, and just as perfect as ever. Derek pulls back and leans over his own side of the bed, biting his lip in wry amusement as he digs out a ring box from under the mattress.

Of course.

He settles down by Stiles and looks quite proud of himself when he presents it; werewolves and gift-giving is a Thing. It’s pretty adorable.

Stiles grins widely and takes it, opening it up. It’s platinum too, the band not as wide as Derek’s, and there’s a vertical row of diamonds in the middle. He spies something engraved on the inside and can’t help but let out a soft laugh that’s watery near the end, because suddenly there are tears burning his eyes. _Fuck_ these hormones.

_Moon of my life_ is on the inside of Stiles’ ring.

Stiles lets Derek take it from him and put it on his finger. Stiles then grabs Derek by the hair and tugs him in for a hot kiss, working them both up all over again for a whole new round of sex.

It’s a _damn_ good night.

 

*

 

Their wedding goes quite smoothly. Stiles’ dad and the pack _insist_ on being there for it, of course, and Scott and Allison sign as witnesses.

Afterwards, they go to Lydia’s for the ‘reception’ as promised. There’s food and drinks all around – Lydia makes some really awesome lemonade for Allison and Stiles so they don’t feel left out – and there’s laughter and good-natured teasing all around.

Derek takes a full day off from working on house the day after so they can ‘honeymoon’, which essentially boils down to them fucking like rabbits all over the apartment. At least Stiles’ wonky hormones have been working for him on _that_ front.

 

*

 

Soon enough, the house is almost put together enough for Stiles to go and take a tour. Derek went over floor plans with him for approval before starting actual work on it, so there’s less chance of them fighting over a design flaw later. Stiles is _really_ feeling the nesting urges though, and it’s driving him a little crazy not having an outlet for them. He tries to work on a book, but it’s slow-going because his mind is truly everywhere and mostly revolves around the baby.

He stumbles on a red notebook one day while he’s cleaning the apartment for the tenth time that day. It’s haphazardly placed under a shirt in Derek’s drawer. Stiles _might_ have been trying to rearrange clothes by color, style, and brand. He didn’t expect to find it and he didn’t look for it on _purpose_. He does try to give Derek privacy with some things, but it’s just _so_ tempting…

Turns out, it’s the same notebook Derek has been working in for recreating the stories he was told as a kid. Stiles reads through what he’s got, and it’s all _amazing_. They need work, it’s obvious Derek doesn’t fully remember some parts as many are unfinished because of that, but Stiles can barely contain himself.

When Derek gets home that night, he doesn’t lie about how he found the notebook. It was an innocent discovery, an honest one, so Stiles has nothing to lie _about_. But he still approaches it carefully.

Derek doesn’t look too put-out about it. He wasn’t really keeping it a surprise, or he says he didn’t plan to. It sort of implies that he _kind of_ thought about making it one, but wasn’t really banking on it. He’s been working on writing all the stories he could remember so he could go back later and polish them up some, and Derek wanted to get them printed special into an actual book. He tells Stiles about his plans for how he wants it to look, all leather with illustrations embossed all over. It’s sweet as fuck is what it is, and seriously, these hormones are going to be the death of Stiles, especially when Derek does shit like this.

Stiles suggests Derek try asking Peter if maybe he could help finish the stories Derek can’t remember. Derek and Peter might get along like water and oil at times, but since Peter went and mated up with Chris Argent, he’s mellowed.

Derek says he’ll consider it and Stiles is just pleased as punch.

 

*

 

Stiles updates his letters.

 

_Dear Baby,_

_Holy shit, you’re starting to resemble a people now! Way to go, Baby. You’ve even got little arms and legs now. I highly recommend those fingers and toes soon._

_Dear Baby,_

_Your Papa just totally told your Uncle Scott that you’re gonna be cuter than his and Aunt Allison’s baby. I thought an old-fashioned smackdown was gonna happen. I had to use my brilliance to distract. Wish I could have recorded that moment for you._

_Dear Baby,_

_Are you a boy or a girl? I need to know, because this figuring out a name thing is hard as hell. Papa has been writing a book of stories for you. I dunno when he finds the time, but I think you’re going to love them. I know I do._

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Stiles is finally at three and a half, _almost_ four months’ gestation, and he’s showing noticeably now. His bladder is suffering because their kid likes to camp out on it and Stiles gets winded a lot easier than he used to, which just makes him feel fat as fuck, which makes him _cranky_. Derek’s getting better with the random bouts of tears and anger – usually followed quickly by sex; Stiles can be sort of spitting fire he’s so mad and _still_ want Derek’s dick in his ass. These _hormones_ , man.

He’s starting to go out a bit less now too, because he doesn’t want all the strange looks. They’ve gotten a little more shopping done, with a lot of the ‘big’ stuff having to wait until the house is finished; a crib mainly, which Stiles wants to be a conversion bed. Apparently progress is really coming along on the house, which only appeases Stiles a little because he’d like to be able to _nest now_ , goddammit. His brain is practically _exploding_ with all the ideas he’s picked up browsing online.

 _Soon_ , Derek tells him.

Patience does not come easily to Stiles these days, but he tries. He tries to occupy himself by working on a book. Speaking of, Derek _did_ finally talk to Peter, who is apparently going to ‘look into things’ for them on the kids stories. Whatever that meant.

Stiles has been staring at his laptop for an hour now and only gotten a couple sentences written for the outline of his story, when goosebumps suddenly prickle all over his body, making him shiver. He sits up straighter, hand resting on the swell of his abdomen.

He… He thinks the baby just kicked. Or, like, _moved_. It felt _weird_.

Stiles waits a couple more minutes, looking at his belly and holding his breath some.

The baby moves again, the sensation light and fluttering and just… Yeah, it’s _weird_. Amazing and weird. He can’t feel it with his hand, so Derek is going to be sad still. Derek’s pretty much been dying to feel the baby move since they went and conceived. Stiles grins though and sits back on the couch. He grabs his phone to text Derek.

Derek is as enthused as Stiles thought he’d be, and Stiles snirks about it – right up until the baby shifts just right and then he has to go pee. _Again_.

 

*

 

Later that night when they’re in bed as they usually are with Derek nuzzling at the bump, Stiles gets an idea. “We should go to Build-A-Bear.”

Derek blinks, looking up from his probable inner mantra of _kick kick kick._ “…Why?”

“Because every kid’s gotta have that _one_ toy they love,” Stiles points out. “I’ve seen some of the dog and puppy plushes they have. They’re going to have a special wolf one next week. I figure we go make one for our baby,” he explains, grinning. “Plus you could howl at the little voice-recorder heart thing they shove in it so that it’s the real deal. We could put, like, a lock of our hair in there too, so it’ll smell like us and be a big comfort for the baby.”

Derek’s eyebrows do that complicated thing they do when he’s thinking. Stiles has had many years of practice to interpret them and so Stiles is already feeling triumphant; Derek’s trying not to let on that it’s an _awesome_ idea. But his smile gives it away, no matter how small it is.

“Alright. Next week then…” Derek goes right back to petting over Stiles’ bump, his expression falling curious. “You’re not going to be disappointed if the baby turns out to be human, are you?”

Stiles laughs a little. “Nah, whatever it turns out to be, it’s cool. I should be asking _you_ that though.”

Derek only grins warmly; yeah, Derek’s not gonna care if the baby is human or wolf either.

 

*

 

Next week they venture to the mall. Stiles wears a hugely oversized sweater and feels uncomfortable as hell, but no one really stares or pays them any mind; apparently he just looks like he’s got a beer gut going. Stiles still isn’t sure if that pleases him or not, but he’s distracted by going into the Build-A-Bear.

Derek starts to scowl because places like these give him hives or something, but a worker finds them and they explain that they’re looking to make a little wolf for their ‘new nephew’. The one that lives out of state and has no Build-A-Bear close by and has _insane_ love for wolves.

The worker falls for the lie, and they make an adorable fucking wolf plush for their baby. Derek’s ears go red and his blush goes down his _neck_ when it comes time to record the howl; everyone in the store take pause because it isn’t _quiet_ , and it’s no lame imitation either, which is when the kids in the store come running over to ask him to do it again. Flustered parents try to herd them away, but Stiles cackles and abandons Derek to the little beasts while he finishes up the ‘adoption’ process for Woofy.

“ _Really_ , Stiles?” Derek asks upon looking at the printed adoption certificate. “ _Woofy_?”

“Not _my_ fault you can’t appreciate the simple things, dude,” Stiles states, matter-of-factly. Derek lets out a long-suffering noise.

Stiles cuddles Woofy the whole way home, and later when they go to bed Derek tucks the thing between them. It’s going to smell so strongly of the both of them, it won’t matter if their kid ends up human or wolf.

 

*

 

The Great Name Debate continues, with more than a few arguments starting because of it. But the field gets narrowed down some when, at Stiles’ latest ultrasound, they find out it’s a boy.

They’re gonna have a _son_.

Lydia keeps up on the picture sets and of course news spreads like wildfire when she finds out they’re having a boy. She’s going to be taking up the duty of the baby shower, even though Stiles tries to tell her they’ve got pretty much everything.

Lydia assures them they do not have _everything_ , and Stiles can only wonder what she’s got planned.

Erica had been betting on a girl, while Isaac and Boyd had been rooting for a boy. Peter and Chris had cast their bets on a girl, but good ol’ pops was betting boy. Allison was thinking girl, and Scott was going boy, just to spite Derek more than anything really. Jackson tries to be indifferent about it, but Lydia lets it fly that he’d been betting on a girl.

Because Jackson is an adorable dickwad like that.

 

*

 

The house is undergoing the final touches and so far ahead of schedule Stiles can’t help but wonder how the _hell_ Derek and the others pulled it off. He’s _excited_ though. This means the baby shower can happen in the new house and, while he might be starting to waddle now, he intends to christen every freaking room.

Except maybe the nursery. That would be a little creepy…

Stiles has been good about not letting himself get into huge funks when Derek gets home late, because he knows Derek is working his ass off to get the house ready for them. The guy is a perfectionist, so no doubt he’s nesting in his own way, trying to get the place as perfect as possible before Stiles gets to see it.

They went shopping for paint colors earlier in the week. They want the fumes aired out by the time they get in there. It was of mutual agreeance that the nursery be painted a color _other_ than pink or blue, and they did bicker some about it, but they finally settled on an extraordinarily soft shade of lilac for the ceiling of the room.

 

*

 

_Dear Baby,_

_Hope you like purple, little man, ‘cause it took me almost stonewalling your papa to get him to agree on it. Papa wanted green, but green is gross._

_Now if we could just agree on a name for you…_

 

*

 

Stiles steps out of the shower after soaking under some hot water for a while and maybe paying his dick some attention. He can’t even _see_ it anymore, and Derek comes home so tired there hasn’t been _time_ for sweet, sweet loving. At least not _this_ week; with his hormones all over the place, a guy has needs, okay?

It’s exceptionally late. Derek is usually home by ten at the latest, but it’s quickly approaching eleven thirty. Stiles shuffles out of the bathroom to drag on some soft jersey bottoms to find his phone still with no texts. He sighs and refuses to get upset. It’s for the house, for _them_. It’ll be done by next week, Derek had said. Stiles doesn’t want to give him a hard time…

He’s just about to go to the kitchen for a snack – baby boy’s craving some grapes – when Stiles hears a soft noise, kind of like a drawer opening and closing. Stiles pauses, frowning. Derek almost always announces when he gets in the door…

Stiles quietly goes and peeks into the kitchen to find some dude going through the drawers, the front door jimmied open. Oh. _Oh_. This is rich. Does this guy even realize how much his life is in danger here? Well, of course he wouldn’t. Werewolves aren’t exactly _public knowledge_ , but seriously; dude’s broken into an _Alpha wolf’s_ den with a _pregnant mate_ who’s _alone_. Stiles almost feels sorry for the guy.

 _Almost_.

Quietly creeping back to the room and grabbing his phone, Stiles punches a text to Derek.

 

**Text from Little Red:**

_Someones in the house takin our shit.  
_

 

**Text from Big Bad:**

_Omw_

 

Stiles smirks slightly; Derek _rarely_ uses shortened messages like that.

He tucks his phone into the pocket of his pants, because Derek will get here faster than any cops he calls about this. Even his dad. Stiles then goes to retrieve his pistol from the bottom drawer of the nightstand – his dad gifted it to him upon moving out years ago – _not_ that he wants this to turn into a face-off with guns; people do really stupid shit when they’re scared. Stiles would know. He doesn’t want to risk getting hurt and losing the baby…

Turns out he doesn’t get a chance to get the gun. “Stop right there,” the stranger says from the doorway. “Turn around.”

Stiles sighs and straightens up, hand holding his lower back because _baby weight_. He turns and fixes the crook with a distinctly unimpressed look, even with the gun the guy is holding pointed his way. Stiles _also_ decides to ignore the perplexed expression the guy gets when his gaze flicks down, viewing Stiles’ belly. “Okay, I’m just gonna warn you now for your own health that I _really_ wouldn’t stick around if I were you buddy. Also blood might make me puke right now. I don’t wanna have to clean either out of the carpet, or we might not get our security deposit back.” Stiles just has to stall a little until Derek gets here.

The guy’s expression twists slightly before he shakes it off, scowling. “Just shut up and start foisting over th’ valuables. _And_ cash.”

Stiles squints, lips pulling back some. “Yeah, see,” he says, hissing between his teeth theatrically, “we don’t really have cash around here. Most of it’s on the plastic. Seriously, could you just leave? My husband’s on his way home and if you’re here, he’s probably going to rip your spine out through your ass.” The slightly skeeved look the guy gets over the mention of a _husband_ irks Stiles.

“ _Shut. Up_. If you’re not going to be useful, then you can sit the fuck down somewhere and stay quiet.” He starts approaching Stiles, gun still fixed on him.

Stiles _sighs_ in long-suffering manner; do people have no self-preservation? Not that he should be pointing fingers here. “Please just promise you won’t piss yourself. We don’t have a little steam cleaner or anythi-!“ Stiles bounces on the bed from getting shoved. _Rude_! He rolls onto his side to take some of the pressure off his guts, then sits up on his elbows and looks entirely indignant. “You’re really not making this better for yours-“

“Jesus Christ, don’t you understand how to _shut up_ with a _gun_ pointed at you?” the guy snaps with incredulous outrage, and he’s doing the looming thing. Or, trying to; he has nothing on looming in comparison to werewolves. Or vampires. There was a vampire thing years ago, so Stiles would know. Stiles opens his mouth to retort, but his heart does a horrible lurch when the asshole prods at the swell of his stomach with the nose of the gun. It’s not a very gentle prod, either. “And what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Stiles reacts by curling back, arm wrapping over his bump out of reflex with a sharp, chilled feeling of panic flaring in his chest.

It doesn’t have time to fully blow up into an attack, though, because the guy is suddenly _gone_ from where he was standing, jerked back so hard he drops the gun. Stiles’ sigh of relief is lost under the half-choked girlish scream of the doomed criminal which is also nearly drowned out; Derek’s roar is so utterly _furious_ , Stiles is pretty sure he just witnessed some pictures on their walls vibrate askew.

Stiles _did_ try and warn the guy…

He watches Derek, eyes glowing livid red, drag the criminal out and practically bounce him around the living room like a toy. Boyd comes bolting in seconds later with Isaac in tow, both with their eyes lit up like gold flares. Stiles accepts the help to his feet and lets them crowd around him as he waddles for the living room. Their concern is always endearing, but he’s totally fine now.

“Cool it, Cujo!” Stiles calls out at Derek, who’s pretty much beating the guy against the floor.

Derek stops, but stays crouched over the man, fangs bared nastily. Surprisingly, he’s kept from wolfing out and his claws are still in; it speaks of Derek’s control being honed over the years. But Derek still looks like he’s about to rip the guy’s throat out, his gaze turning to Stiles with a flash of concern.

Stiles does his Vanna White impression with a sweep of his arm, gesturing to his own body. “I’m okay, see? No harm done, baby’s actually kicking my kidney right now. No need to kill him. Pretty sure he’s unconscious.”

Derek growls and looks back and yeah, yeah the guy is kind of limp. Derek snorts with a sound fit to be coming out of a bull instead, but stands up, dragging the man’s limp body with him. Derek looks to Boyd and Isaac. “Take him to the hospital,” he spits with distaste, thrusting the body at them.

Boyd and Isaac catch the guy up under the arms and dutifully start to drag him out, but Stiles stops them. “Wait.” He gets the guy’s gun with a cloth, goes and tucks it back on the dude’s person. Stiles smirks. “I’ll call dad, let him know what happened.”

He gets his phone out as Boyd and Isaac leave and Stiles makes the call. He lets Derek crowd against him, lets Derek snuffle at his neck while Stiles talks to dad. Derek’s hand are all over checking Stiles, making sure he’s still in one piece, uninjured.

The conversation with dad is more exasperation than worry, but things are going to be taken care of.

Afterwards, Stiles sighs at the blood on their floor and idly weaves the fingers of a hand up into Derek’s hair. He sends Erica a text, asking if she’ll bring over her little portable steam cleaner and the usual stuff for taking blood out; they perfected the art of it shortly after high school. Comes with the territory of running with wolves.

Stiles lets Derek herd him to the bedroom and a slow smile spreads over his face, because while Stiles doesn’t like being treated like a squishy human _or_ a China doll, being protected and watching Derek beat a guy to a bloody pulp on Stiles’ account is _hot_. “I’m okay,” he says softly against Derek’s temple, Derek’s face pressed to his neck again. Poor Derek’s more shaken than him, because it had to look awful from Derek’s vantage point coming in.

Stiles makes Derek wash the blood off his hands before letting Derek put him on the bed and peel off his pants. Derek’s still fresh from working on the house, some paint stains on the old tank top he’s wearing, his old ratty jeans torn and spattered with what looks like wood varnish. He’s just as quick to shed his clothes, though, and this is _exactly_ what Stiles wants right now.

He’s used to being on his side or on top, straddling Derek’s hips by now, the weight of the baby too much for being on his back, and it’s not entirely comfortable on his hands and knees either for the same reasons.  

Derek’s entirely handsy this time, slow and methodic for all that he’s nearly desperate. He takes Stiles apart piece by piece, has him practically _sobbing_ from his position above Derek who’s three fingers in with lube dripping down his wrist.

Derek has a _thing_ for paying such sweet attention to the baby bump during these times, always kissing and nuzzling and licking at it when he’s not painting Stiles’ neck with marks. It makes Stiles shiver and his breath stutter.

He reaches back and pulls Derek’s hand away, tired of begging for it. Stiles is _sure_ Derek does it on purpose sometimes, maybe just to be reminded that Stiles wants this as much as Derek does. Stiles takes the lube and coats Derek’s dick himself, one hand staying planted on Derek’s stupidly solid chest for support. He holds Derek’s gorgeous cock steady and sinks onto it as fast as his body will let him, and it’s hard to say who whines and who moans, but Derek curls up and kisses him too stupid to care. Then Derek starts _thrusting_ with a tightly controlled rhythm; wanting so badly to _take_ and _claim,_ but needing it to stay slow.

Stiles asks for the knot, fucking _loves_ that shit. Lately they haven’t been doing it as much.

Later, when they’re sweaty, slick, sated messes, Derek props his knees up for Stiles to lean back against while they wait for his knot to recede. Derek pets both hands over Stiles’ belly and the worry is still there in hard lines on his face, but they’re slowly softening.

Erica announces her presence when she comes along with the steam cleaner. She knows better than to go into the bedroom. The high-pitched sound of the machine turning on lets them know she’s taking care of the blood herself, which Stiles really appreciates. Derek probably does too.

Stiles decides to buy Boyd, Erica, and Isaac each something nice for their help later.

 

*

 

Stiles is floored by the house when Derek finally brings him to see it. The pack is helping them move today. Boyd’s driving the U-Haul with Isaac, Scott and Chris are bringing the last little things in Chris’ SUV, and Peter, Erica, Lydia, Jackson and Allison are at the house waiting to help move things around.

The house is gorgeous. Derek showed him a picture of the Hale house years ago, one of the few precious ones that survived the fire, and while there are still some features that look similar to what it was, the house is different. It’s huge. It’s _almost_ Victorian in style, and Stiles wonders if maybe Peter helped out with the architecture since, surprise, that’s what Peter does for a living.

Stiles doesn’t even make fun of Derek all but preening as they go through the house. They had agreed on the floor plans before construction started, but seeing it all come to life and finally _real_ , it’s amazing. There’s lush cream-colored carpet and redwood flooring. The counter tops are polished black granite. A lot of the walls are still a basic eggshell white, blank canvases to work with for Stiles to do as he pleases, but the soft shade of lilac on the ceiling of the nursery is pure perfection. Not to mention the wrap-around porch Stiles wanted, so open and spacious and ripe for setting up for pack gatherings.

It takes great restraint to not start christening rooms right away. They get teased plenty for it, but Stiles doesn’t even care. As soon as night falls and the last bit of furniture is painstaking put together, and Scott and Allison are the last to leave, Stiles drags Derek to their room and gets right to work on making it smell like _them_.

 

*

 

The high they’re both riding right now is because they’re fucking _happy_ to finally be in their own house with a baby on the way. Stiles knows this honeymoon phase will pass, but he’s entirely too happy to let the mood swings get to him long. He’s been told he’s glowing finally, even if he still thinks it’s just sweat, but whatever. He’ll take it.

He’s happy as a clam now that he’s able to arrange the house the way he wants. There’s a lot of blank space to fill and Derek offers little resistance on how Stiles chooses to do so. Even if Derek has moved the couches like fifty times now, and pictures have been rearranged even more. It truly feels like _home_. They’ve banged on almost every surface in it, so Derek is highly pleased when he says the place smells like _them_.

The pack have been over almost every day. Lydia’s baby shower goes without a hitch and it’s as grand as everything she sets her mind to. The house is filled a little more with pack by way of their gifts, a combination of housewarming presents and things for this baby and any in the future; Boyd gifts them with picture frames and baby gates. Erica gifts them with a bunch of baby clothes varied by age along with some things for their kitchen. Scott gifts them a wicked nice coffee maker. Melissa gifts them with diapers, _lots_ of diapers, plus the softest baby blankets Stiles has ever felt. Jackson gifts them furniture for their porch, the set both Stiles and Derek had talked about once around Lydia, who must have been the one to tell him about it. Lydia gifts them a photo album she’s put together, filled with pictures of the pack from over the years. She also gives them a couple blanks albums, beautiful heirloom-quality ones, to fill with their own memories to come. Allison gifts them with a bunch of things Stiles had favorite on Etsy, all kinds of wolf-themed things, like jammies and wolf-eared hats and paw-print mittens. Isaac gifts them toys of all kinds.

Dad of course makes Stiles a little weepy when he’s gifted the baby blankets his mom made, the ones stored ever so carefully in the attic, and he’s also given the crib mom and dad used for Stiles.

Peter gives the most unexpected gift though. Derek is beside Stiles, watching him unwrap the ridiculously elegant wrapping paper to reveal a leather-bound book. It’s embossed in bronze with two wolf cubs on the bottom right corner howling at a moon on the upper left. Derek leans in closer as Stiles opens it up and finds stories inside, the title of the first making Derek pull in a soft gasp.

It’s all of the bedtime stories from Derek’s childhood, from the Hale pack itself. Peter doesn’t give away how he remembered them _all_ , or if he recovered them from the fire. Maybe he has the original text stashed away. Either way, Peter looks quite smug, just in an extremely pleased fashion. Chris has a soft, indulgent smile on his own face beside him, and he idly rests a hand on Peter’s back.

The book is passed around so everyone can see, but later that night Stiles finds Derek in bed with it open on his lap. There’s a delicate, revered look on his face and his eyes are a little misty, so Stiles smiles and quietly tucks against him. Together they read the stories Derek grew up with, the stories their _son_ is going to remember and cherish just the same.

 

*

 

The honeymoon phase has slowly worn off. They get past the final checkup and anxiousness settles in. Dr. Fitzgerald recommends an induction date for Stiles and it’s not too far away now. Stiles is in a miserable stage of pregnancy again, so tired of _being_ pregnant, so ready to get this kid _out_ , but also so scared shitless about it. Derek and Stiles are going to have a little life to take care of soon, to nurture and guide and shape into a person; they both have their own worries about it, about somehow fucking up their kid and being horrible parents.

Peter and Chris shockingly are there to provide a lot of comfort on the matter, as well as Melissa and, of course, John – those two sort of hooked up a while ago, so they’re a package deal like Peter and Chris.

If anything, Stiles’ dad is going through his own nesting situation with Melissa; the last time Stiles visited, he’d found that they had baby-proofed their house – Melissa moved in with John – and it’s been cleaned up to a sparkling degree. Stiles’ old room was pretty much left as is until now. Now there’s a second-hand crib in there with a play mat and some toys in a toy chest.

Those two are so ready to have a grandchild to spoil, there’s no doubt about it. It’s terribly endearing.

 

*

 

Stiles’ nesting kicks into high gear whenever he’s not trying to sleep; heartburn and general discomfort for the little person inside his body is making it incredibly difficult. _Especially_ when the kid keeps getting hiccups. But supposedly that’s a good thing.

Derek is going through his own stages of anxiety, from trying to cook and feed Stiles as though Stiles is starved, to being extraordinarily touchy. Stiles doesn’t even care about it anymore, he’ll take all the foot rubs and back rubs he can get, and Derek can rub his belly all day. It’s pretty soothing. The pack is excited and Stiles tries not to dampen Allison’s spirit; she’s only halfway through her own pregnancy and she’s in a relatively comfortable stage. Stiles isn’t going to tell her to expect a fresh new hell by the third trimester.

Then the day comes.

He told the pack not to bother taking off work or anything, but somehow everyone is there at the hospital when Stiles goes in for induction and cesarean. He’s focusing on breathing techniques so he doesn’t panic. Derek’s right there with him, face schooled into as neutral an expression as possible, but he’s freaking out on the inside too, no doubt.

Dr. Fitzgerald is there before they get Stiles changed. He calmly goes through the steps of the procedure, making sure they understand one last time how everything is going to go. It helps out a little, and soon enough Stiles is in the surgical room with a cloth barrier between him and his belly. Squeamish as he is, Stiles wants to watch everything, so he’s staring at the mirrors above him. Derek’s changed out as well as per protocol, and he holds Stiles’ hand firmly.

The epidural wasn’t fun. It feels really fucking weird to be numb from the waist down, and it’s even _weirder_ to watch Dr. Fitzgerald make the first incision but not _feel_ it.

Everything goes way quicker than Stiles had imagined. Sure, he was told it was going to be a fast thing unless complications came up, but seriously. One moment he hears Dr. Fitzgerald announce that he’s opening up the uterus, and then the next there’s a wet, slimy, completely gross but _beautiful_ infant being pulled out of him. It’s the most gorgeous thing Stiles has ever seen, and he watches with shocked awe as their baby is handed off to the waiting pediatricians. Stiles panics slightly because there should be crying, right? Why isn’t their baby _crying_ , why isn’t he-

Their boy lets out a wail and Stiles huffs out in relief, moisture wetting his lashes. Derek leans down and kisses Stiles’ forehead and his lips gently, pets Stiles’ temple and rumbles a little. There’s relief on Derek’s face, so bright with joy it’s like staring at the sun. Or maybe it’s the medications fucking with Stiles. He doesn’t care, and everything from that moment goes like a blur until he’s ready to go to the recovery room.

 

*

 

When Stiles is sutured up and in the recovery room, he’s got their baby boy tucked in the crook of his arm and he just can’t stop staring at him with wonder.

They _made_ him. Derek and he _made_ this baby, and now that baby boy is cleaned up Stiles can see all the features on him. Stiles is pretty sure their kid has his nose and the shape of his eyes, but Derek’s jaw and chin. Baby boy has a spattering of dark hair on his head as is expected, though Stiles thinks it’s closer to Derek’s shade of brunette.

Derek had quietly stated earlier that their son is a wolf; something about his smell. Stiles is pretty damn proud about it.

They never did agree on a name, but now that the baby is here and Stiles is gazing at him with wonder and a whole lot of pride, his brain loops back on the one name that kept ending up on their ‘maybe’ list. “Carlisle…” he murmurs.

Derek is ever so carefully tucked up beside Stiles on the bed – the nurses keep scolding him for it, but Derek just climbs back on when they leave – with his chin resting some on Stiles’ shoulder. Derek’s been gently running his thumb along their son’s cheek, and he’s probably been weepier over this than Stiles, but this child means _so_ many things to Derek; their son is the newest Hale, a bloodline nearly wiped out.

Derek’s lips crook subtly into a smile. “Carlisle.”

 

*

 

According to pretty much all the parents in the pack, Carlisle Theodore Stilinski-Hale – Carly – is an ‘easy baby’. Apparently Derek and Stiles lucked out. While the first few weeks are rough adjusting to Carly’s schedule, they’re not awful. Dr. Fitzgerald informed them that Carly’s going to be a pretty hardy baby, being a werewolf, though he’ll still be prone to cold and flus if he’s exposed. But things like colic and diaper rashes won’t be issues unless they really fuck up.

Healing from abdominal surgery sucks _ass_ , but Stiles perseveres. Deaton’s got some really awesome medicine for Stiles that helps the healing process exponentially, and he’s back to being himself much sooner than if he’d been left to heal without.

Derek’s an outstanding father already, not that Stiles thought he’d be anything but. Derek told him about how he’d babysit for his little cousins and siblings, some of them just months old, and how much Derek enjoyed it. He has a slight advantage here when it comes to tending to Carly, but Stiles is doing just fine. He’s beginning to understand the different cries, not that Carly makes much fuss so long as he’s fed and in a fresh diaper.

The best thing is how cuddly Carly is. Touch is important for infants. Stiles read all about it, but he knows how tactile the grown wolves are, so it doesn’t surprise him that Carly especially loves to be held close. Derek’s the one that finds the Mobi wraps, because apparently babywearing is a thing werewolves do, and Stiles will never get over Derek shuffling around the house – or out and about – with Carly tucked into the wrap against his chest.

The pack help where they can, and while Stiles and Derek do both tend to run low on sleep the first few months, there’s always someone there to watch Carly so they can nap. Even if it’s excruciatingly hard to trust someone else to care for him at first.

 

*

 

Scott and Allison welcome to the world their baby girl, Evelyn, born four months later. She’s cute as a button. As if Scott and Allison’s genes could produce anything _but_ sunshine and rainbows.

She’s got the biggest eyes ever and the best squirmy baby smile, but Stiles catches Derek talking to Carly later that day. Something about his nose being cuter and his cheeks chubbier.

Stiles just _can’t_ with that man.

 

*

 

Between them and the pack, there’s at least three full photo albums and even more memory cards filled with pictures of Carly as he grows up that first year. All the milestones are caught on camera, Lydia’s albums go to good use, and Stiles has so many videos on his phone.

Carly does in fact have Derek’s hair and the shape of his jaw, but he has Stiles’ whiskey-colored eyes and Stiles’ nose, plus he’s getting new little freckles and moles each month it seems. They’re cute as fuck, okay? They’re screwed as soon as Carly becomes self-aware of his adorableness and how much sway he holds over them.

There’s a lot of subtle gloating going on between Scott and Derek when they get the babies together for ‘play dates’.

 

*

 

It’s a topic that’s come up a few times, but Stiles and Derek agree that as soon as Carly is mobile a while, they can work on a sibling for him.

And _oh boy_ is Carly mobile. It’s a good thing their boy can heal, because he’s _everywhere_ now that he’s figured out his legs, as well as running on all fours like Papa taught him. There’s been a few hard tumbles because poor Carly doesn’t have a lot of grace, which Stiles hopes he grows to have a ton of because there can’t be _two_ accident-prone people in the house, and there have been tears.

Teething was the most difficult stage though, especially when it started happening during a full moon.  

Stiles and Derek are still exhausted a lot of nights, but it’s entirely worthwhile.

 

*

 

The second time around they try to conceive, it takes longer to take. It still happens though, and about five months after they announce the pregnancy, they welcome their daughter to the family. Stiles let Derek have a little more say in the naming process.

Charlotte Jaqueline Stilinski-Hale – Lottie – has Papa wrapped around her chubby fingers the second she’s born.

She’s more Derek than Stiles in comparison to her brother, her hair nearly black, her nose straight and her eyes eventually go from blue to that ridiculous shade Derek’s are. By the time she’s six months old, she gets one dark freckle on her cheek under her right eye, a friggin’ beauty mark, and that’s it. They’re _doomed_. They can’t ever let her date. She’s going to grow up stunning and it won’t even be Stiles that does it, it’ll be Derek that’ll be there at the door threatening to rip the face off of anyone she brings home that dares date her.

Although, Lottie’s a wolf too, so Derek might already have taught her how to snap a person’s neck by the time she gets to middle school.

At least their baby girl won’t take crap from anyone.

 

*

 

Stiles wakes up from a nap and grunts, not really wanting to get out of bed just yet, but he has to piss _so bad_ right now. So he peels himself up and takes care of business.

Carly and Lottie are down for their naps right now, else the house would be full of laughter and bickering and howling. Or he _assumes_ they’re down for their naps, otherwise they must have tied up Derek and are wreaking havoc like old, dastardly silent movie villains.

He goes downstairs and smirks, finding his answer on where Derek is and if the kids are asleep.

Derek is sprawled on the floor in the living room, Carly zonked out against his side wrapped up in one of Derek’s arms. Lottie is snoozing from her spot on Papa’s chest, his other arm draped over the back of her knees, one of her tiny shoes missing. Her little body rises and falls with Derek’s breathing, and Carly’s mouth is wide open, so he’s snoring softly.

There are crayons spilled in a pile not far away, coloring books messily and enthusiastically colored in with _all_ the colors. On _one page_. They’re homeschooling until the kids are able to really control their shifts, so Carly’s homework is scattered by the coffee table. Toys are strewn around not far away. Some of the decorative pillows from the couches are on the floor, including an entire cushion altogether. Carly’s blanket with Spider-Man is slung haphazardly over Derek’s leg, probably because ‘it got cold’ and Carly was helping.

Stiles grins and rubs the swell of his belly, this latest truly an active one. He hopes they’re ready for it. But, if they can handle two, somehow they’ll be able to handle three. There’s probably going to be even more in their future. They’re just trying to space them out some for the sake of their sanity, or Stiles’ at least. Even at his most worn-down, Derek wears fatherhood like he was made for it.

Stiles gets a snack of cheddar cheese cubes and grapes from the fridge, then goes back upstairs to enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts. He thinks he’ll write some more on his book. The idea came to him one night and it hasn’t let go, and it’s been _so long_ since he’s been able to get some actual work done. This one will no doubt be published as a fantasy novel, a comedy of sorts, but to the right observer, it’ll be helpful and, hopefully, comforting. It’s aimed for a very specific audience.

Stiles gets his laptop out and settles down, working on his next chapter for ‘Of Pregnancy, Pups, and Pack.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> For those interested in what the fuck Deaton was talking about, [here's](http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1701710/) a link. 
> 
> Y'all can find me at [Tumblr](http://gigacat.tumblr.com/). Be warned -- There will be pictures of men. And men's butts. And men's dangly bits. Often interacting with each other in fun ways.
> 
> SUPER huge thank you to my BB [thevoiceofwrath](http://thevoiceofwrath.tumblr.com/) for being such an awesome beta for this chapter. Expect her Tumblr to have sexy men doing sexy things as well. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! ♥


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